Saltwater Waves
by IciestBlack
Summary: Switches each chapter between Jack and Pitch's perspectives. Alternate Universe - College. Pitch is the new transfer from England and Jack gets to be his guide even though they both have major issues. Blackice. Jack Frost/Pitch Black. Eventual smut. Note: This is on AO3 and Tumblr as well under the same account name. I'm new here, I find this site difficult to use ; u ;
1. The Black Sheep

**Chapter One - The Black Sheep**

His life had always been normal: his childhood filled with easily found friends that were attracted to his bright sense of fun, his family bonded through experiences and hardships they had all shared, his relationships filled with love and loss, yet never with regret, and his time felt infinite. He had most things people would trade their souls to a devil for. He never realized this was how other people viewed his life, and not how he should. His life wasn't as basic as all this; as they all thought it was

There were some things he had never been able to tell anyone. Not his friends, nor his family, nor his loves. It always seemed to him that everyone else had someone who was closer to them than their own secrets, everyone else had a family who was close emotionally but not physically, and everyone else had someone they could have and hold and stumble with. He wasn't like everyone else, not that he had ever fully understood that. Among his friends he had never found someone to really confide in, if he ever did a minute thing wrong he was slapped, or if his father was in the right mood, a bit more was forced out of him, and true love always managed to escape him out the window early in the morning without leaving a name or number.

On occasion this young man would think that his life wasn't so great, he needed more from it, to be acknowledged for who he really was, before a wave of shame mixed with guilt would wash over and pull him into its depths. He swore on those occasions he could taste the salt-water. If only he knew those were tears and not waves, maybe he wouldn't have felt so shamed; so guilty; so tired.

His life wasn't normal, and the sooner he realized that, the sooner he could be free and, maybe someday, even happy.

* * *

Mornings always seemed to be the hardest for him. He would wake up earlier than any student who had just started their first semester at college ever needed to be, head downstairs to start breakfast, double-checking that he made the meal perfectly lest he had to start from scratch, set everything out, quietly sneak back up to his room and prepare for the coming classes, and if he was lucky, grab something for himself before his family noticed as he sprinted out the door.

By the time he manages to get to the first round of his classes, he's sweating, tired, and more than a little disheveled. No one ever seemed to mind though. His "friends" would crowd around him, always chanting the same questions, as though they were curious little sheep.

"How was your night?"

"Meet anyone new?"

"When can we see your house?"

"Why won't you ever hang out with us?"

He never changed his answers, and the curious little sheep never seemed to question that.

"Couldn't have been better," a broad smile that couldn't touch his eyes.

"Oh I might have... Why are you asking?" A flirtatious wink and a faked pout following the blush of whatever person had asked him this time once he had affirmed they were too embarrassed to respond.

"Whenever I can manage to actually motivate myself to clean," a slightly shameful glance and a dull upbringing of lips that spoke volumes of just how much he didn't mind lying to these people that could never see what was really there.

"I've been so caught up in my school-work lately I really just haven't had the time," an apologetic shrug of his shoulders that, every day the same question was asked, drooped a little lower.

Today was no different, going the exact way every other day had gone for the past two months of college, down to the flock's questioning. Did he ever want something to change. Someone to call out to him and pull him in close and tell him everything was going to be okay and that he didn't have to live the way he was living and that it wasn't normal and that he shouldn't feel the way he does and that he needed somebody to care about him-

The door to the classroom slammed shut and the students shuffled to their usual seats. He feigned tiredness to his friends and used his arm like a shepherd's crook to usher them in the opposite direction. He took a seat up in the top left, alone, in a slightly shadowed corner of the lecture hall. As typical of most classrooms at the university he attended, the seats were in rows, two to a table, four tables per row, and each row went up a step starting from ground level to make sure all of the students were able to peer at their Facebook accounts through some sort of electronic device from every angle, or perhaps even see the board, but most likely it was the first reason.

Just as he pulled his hood up over his head and the professor started clicking through slides and twinkling his eyes at the three students who were actually paying attention today, a knock sounded at the door nearest to the front of the class. Having faked the tiredness in the first place, he realized he really was tired, and didn't bother to look up as his teacher meandered over to the door and peered out at another obvious official of the school.

"Jack Frost? Yes, he's in this class. What? No, yes, I'll send him the notes from today's lesson, then."

Not having perked his ears at the sound of his name, it being used so commonly among the throng of female students and a few of the males, Jack started to doze.

"Excuse, Mr. Jackson Overland Frost?"

The voice was startlingly close to him, and he opened his eyes, almost falling out of his chair in surprise.

"Oh, uh, yes?" Jack attempted to recover, flashing the brilliant smile he so knew would make sure there wasn't a problem, and a few giggles resounded from further down the rows.

"Please. Come with me," and seeing Jack's smile falter a bit, the man added, "You are not in any trouble."

Jack stood and looked at the person in front of him. A tall man, muscled and large, heavily laden with a thick Russian accent, who wore a black fur cap and a dark, velvet red coat with trim that matched the covering on his head over a suit that spread fittingly over him. The outfit was unsurprising given the cold weather that had begun to spread over their average state, but Jack found himself a tad taken aback at the big, bushy white beard that sprouted from the man's face, completely contrasting to his equally big and bushy black eyebrows. He didn't seem to be old enough to have white hair, maybe in his fifties at the latest, but that's not what Jack had really fixated on. It was the fact that this person standing in front of him could have easily been confused with Santa Clause. A more modern, Russian Santa Clause, but still, Santa. I wonder if I'll see him working at the mall this Christmas, he thought, How could anyone not see that resemblance in themselves and not want to make a bit of side-cash off of it? Jack attempted to not snicker at the thought of waiting in line to tell him what he wanted for Christmas, which just so happened to be seeing him go to his regular job dressed the same way, as he followed the Santa imposter out the door. From the stares they were getting, he figured his classmates either noticed the same resemblance he had seen and were itching to jump out of their chairs and beg for new video games and ramen, or were a bit worried for Jack's safety as he left with the burly Russian. Jack hoped for either of these possibilities, finding them equally amusing.

Once in the hall, he was led to the main office where the secretary nodded her head, seemingly unnoticed by the man he followed, and into an office that was a bit too big for a college of only B-standing amongst other schools. A seat was gestured to him and he willingly sat, his nervousness coming in all too quickly, as the man sat behind the only desk in the room that had a plaque on the front that read Dean - Head of Campus. Jack looked around, trying to subtlely avoid eye contact, and noticed the dark mahogany of the desk, the chestnut bookshelves that covered the entire left wall of the room (he glanced at a few of the titles, Do Robots Dream of Electric Sheep?, and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, were among them), the wall, or should he say glass, behind the desk was just that, glass, and it let through the crispest sunlight Jack had ever seen, it even shown the winding grounds of the campus, the buildings looking scattered and built at random from their slight height on the fourth floor, the wall to his far right had a fireplace- Wait. A fireplace? Jack almost burst out laughing then and there. He really must be Santabecame the only thought in Jack's easily distracted mind. He merely perused the rest of the room, all of the woods being either the same mahogany of the desk or the same chestnut of the shelves, even on the small lounge near the fireplace (a small snicker escaped this time) with a coffee-table in front. It seemed more of a small apartment than an office.

"What is amusing, my friend?" The man seated in front of him asked with a warm, broad smile.

"Do you live here?" Jack breathed a laugh, and then hesitated, thinking that maybe he should have used a bit more tact than that.

The man merely laughed whole-heartedly until his eyes started to water and he wiped them. "Oh Jack, you are like they said you would be."

Jack's smile returned at the man's fit of laughter, "They, sir?"

"Some professors and class-mates."

"And why would you want to know about me?" Jack questioned, a tad of accusation slipping into his voice.

"I fear in joke I had forgot reason I brought you here!" The man stood and offered his hand. Jack mirrored his motion after a second of confusion and felt the firm squeeze of the other's large and calloused hand. I wonder if those are from making toys for a living.

"My name is Nicholas. Nicholas St. North." Okay, so it wasn't Santa Clause per say, but come one, it was close enough.

"Very nice to meet you, sir," Jack said as they both sat back down in their chairs. "What is it you need me for? Not that I'm ungrateful. That statistics teacher can be a little boring at times, if you don't mind my saying so."

North laughed jovially once again, Ho ho ho, "Then I shall say you owe one to me," he added a wink, "For now, we can call it even if you do me favor, yes?"

"And what would this favor be, sir?" Please be delivering toys, please be delivering toys, please be delivering toys.

"I need you to help with the delivering of," gasp, "a certain student into this new life of his," sigh.

Oh the irony of word choice.

"A new student?" Formality long forgotten at the recent let down of not being able to travel the globe.

"He transferred soon, er, recently, I have lived here for many years and still I find this language difficult to," he hesitates, furrowing his brow, "grab." Another hesitation before he continues, his smile coming back but filled with pride this time at managing to grasp the right word. "The student has no family to say of, and he has apartment and job not too far from here. This will be his senior year, making him, you are freshman, yes?" Jack nods. "Then only few years difference. You will have lot in common. He is quite closed off, and as you seem be popular, I would ask you help him adjust to this new place, yes? It is difficult starting new in strange place, I should know," a throaty chuckle, "so if you would, help out?"

Jack paused to think, but before he could open his mouth to answer, the phone on North's desk rang, sharp and loud.

"Just second, please," North said picking it up.

Jack could hear a muffled woman's voice on the other end.

"Yes? Oh! He is here already? Well bring him in!" And with that he slammed the phone down, more out of accidental strength than an emotion.

A quick knock sounded on the door and North stood and went to open it. Not knowing where to look Jack stared out the window, guessing the time was mid-afternoon.

"Ah! You made it just in moment, my boy! Come, come, sit."

At that Jack turned to his left where a matching chair to his own sat, though really it was more of a dark, leather lounge-chair than anything else. He barely noticed when North sat back behind his desk.

"This Kozmotis Pitchiner, Jack. What was you like to be called again?" He looked questioningly at the new transfer.

"Pitch, if you wouldn't mind," he stated calmly as his gaze drifted out the window, almost as if the conversation wasn't entirely about him.

"Yes! Pitch! Pitch, this Jackson Overland Frost," North pointed to Jack, though it was painfully obvious that that was him since no one else was in the room, the secretary gone shutting the door behind her when the conversation first struck up, if you could call it striking up.

Pitch gave a short glance to his right before returning to the seemingly fascinating outside world.

Jack hadn't stopped staring at him since he had sat down. He found it difficult to look away from this, Pitch, person. He had an angular face, his cheekbones high and rounded, and his jaw sharp enough to cut a diamond with. His chin went to a rounded point, perfectly paired with his jaw. His nose went down into a bird-like point. His hair was pitch black, another perfect pair that went with his name this time, and his eyebrows were thin yet natural, turning the expression he had now into one of careless boredom. His lips were dark, a few shades darker than his skin, which seemed to be a pale grey. Jack wasn't sure if it was from the light, but then thought better of himself, remembering the yellow light illuminating the grounds a little while before. He couldn't bear to look away to check. Lastly, Jack looked at Pitch's eyes, savoring the color of his irises. They were the color of amber drenched in honey with streaks of silver feeding through them. He had light shadows under his eyes, though he didn't seem tired at all. Jack then questioned if maybe it was eyeliner, but brushed that notion aside for the moment. He hadn't even looked at his body yet. He wore a V-necked T-shirt, it just barely showing the starting indent of his pex, and completely showing off his collarbone that was just as angular as his face. He was lean, but there was definite muscle there. His arms were long, and Jack realized that his legs must be as well, as he took him in full picture. He had to be at least 6"4', if not taller. His jeans were dark blue, faded enough to look black, with holes in the knees, and they went down to the tops of his boots, the tips a round point like that of his chin. Jack's gaze wandered back up to his face, where he noticed a few pieces of jewelry he had first missed. A stud and a ring were in the cartilage of his right ear, and though Jack couldn't see it from the angle he was at now, he had only a stud on his left, and a slight silver ring clung to the left side of his lip, hugging it as if was going to fall. If there was a God, he did some fine work on this one, Jack thought, thanking that same God he hadn't been staring for more than a minute, he cleared his throat and said, "Hey, nice to meet you. Call me Jack, if you like."

A shrug in response.

"I guess I'll be helping you find your way around for a little while, and let's hope we can find the hidden workshop I just know North has if we pull out the right book," Jack enthusiastically whispered the last part, noting how his mind had decided for him that he was going to undertake this little task of the Dean's.

Another glance, this one longer than the previous one, and another shrug before he looked back out the window.

Jack wasn't sure, but he thought he saw the twinge of a smile being held down.


	2. Hidden Books, Cinnamon Ponds, and Dark H

**Chapter Two - Hidden Books, Cinnamon Ponds, and Dark Heart's Cellphone**

Driving to this school was a pain, not that Pitch would ever admit it. Most everything he was very blasé about, and he wasn't too keen on losing his facade to mere strangers so easily. He would just have to invest in a cellphone, if merely for navigational purposes.

The roads that lead to the university were all fairly beautiful. Wildflowers fringed what he could see of the roadside while behind the wheel, and went well into the forest where they peppered themselves around the trees. This was one of the reasons he had moved to this state. For the beauty. Though surprisingly under-appreciated, it had a magical air to it; a certain spice of, well, spice, if you will. Pitch loved the smell of cinnamon that permeated the air as he drove almost to the point of criminal speeding with all of his windows down. It was refreshing, and as much as he loved his black-ice air freshener, he was thinking maybe he would search for a cinnamon one next time to add to the rearview mirror, but for now, he really should focus on finding out where this bleeding school was.

* * *

"Mr. North, the new transfer student, Kozmotis Pitchiner, is here," the secretary stated through the phone matter of factly as Pitch walked through the door of her office and stood, questioning whether or not he should smile at the woman or wait avoiding it. He decided to wait.

A muffled man's voice was barely audible to Pitch from where he stood, but it sounded quite like the man he had talked to the week before about coming to attend this school.

"Yes, sir." She hung up the phone and smiled at him, more out of politeness than genuine sincerity.

He mirrored her look before she took him around the corner near her desk and down a short back hall to a grand door. She knocked once, quickly, and waited a moment before the door was pulled open from the opposite side and a tall, Santa-esque Russian stood with one of the biggest and goofiest smiles Pitch had ever seen on his face.

Pitch had no idea that this was what the dean really looked like. He had assumed some students had hacked the school's website and posted the photo he had seen of the "Head of Campus" on the faculty page and taken the correct one down, but no, this was the picture. This was the actual dean. Pitch smiled genuinely at the possibilities of some of the classes they teach here if their president was Santa. Reindeer Lassoing 101, How to Bake a Cookie: And Then Frost It (2 Credits), and lastly, they must have A Beginner's Course for Snowball Fights, one he was particularly interested in, seeing as how the cold was one of his favorite things.

North led him to a chair, telling and motioning him to sit, as the secretary left. He had to be reminded of what he preferred to be called, a slight annoyance for Pitch, but at least he'd remember next time.

North introduced him to some boy that was in the chair to his right, he glanced over, and then looked out the glass window that took up an entire wall behind North. The campus really was beautiful. I wonder if everything smells like cinnamon here, he thought to himself.

After quite a minute or so, the boy, Jack, as North had said, spoke up, "Hey, nice to meet you. Call me Jack, if you like."

Pitch shrugged, too focused on the outside's gardens than to really care at the moment about this Jack that hadn't moved his eyes from him since he sat down.

"I guess I'll be helping you find your way around for a little while, and let's hope we can find the hidden workshop I just know North has if we pull out the right book," he seemed to hush himself at the last part, and it was just low enough North didn't hear, though he seemed busy rifling some papers at the moment.

Pitch looked back over at the boy, immediately thinking maybe we would get along, when in the matter of a few seconds, he took in his entire visage. Jack was breathtaking; no wonder he had so many friends, as North had said over the phone. His hair was white and stood up in certain places, most likely due to bed-head, and was not entirely obviously dyed, which made Pitch wonder how it had gotten that way, or if it really was just dyed. His brows were white streaked with grey that blended perfectly like the trees and the wildflowers he had seen on his drive here. His lips were thin but full at the same time, his teeth perfectly straight and whiter than his hair. He was a bit overly pale, but with his hair color, it made him look fragile, though from his lean structure you could tell he wasn't. His eyes were round and the color was that of freshly fallen snow over cracked, blue ice, his pupils a startling contrast to his otherwise white features. He wore a thin blue hoodie that was sown with white thread, almost as a garnish, around the hem, cuffs, and neck-line. He wore a white T-shirt underneath, from what could be seen of it near the collar of the hoodie, and his pants were form-fitting, khaki cargo pants with zippers that went around the pant legs in such a way that they looked like dark brown chords, as did the suspenders that hung down and off the chair he was seated in. His sneakers were of the Converse variety, a blue that matched his eyes, and the laces and soles just as white as the rest of him. He didn't have any piercings like Pitch did, but that might've been a good thing, where-as things get tangled. And how the hell did his thoughts just move in that direction? Pitch looked back out the window, relishing those seconds he had just stolen, and tried not to smile as he remembered that they would need to find that hidden book before North caught onto them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Pitch saw Jack's smile broaden, as if he could tell he himself was trying not to. He found it quite amazing how Jack already knew what he was feeling.

But then again, Pitch thought, Jack is just a boy, he has enough friends as it is, and my life is a tad too busy at the moment to have to deal with children.

Any feeling of wanting to smile before had left him.

* * *

Eventually they managed to iron out the details of what Jack had to really do for Pitch. It mainly consisted of, technically speaking, showing him around the campus and where his classes were. An added bonus that wasn't said, though Pitch could feel it hanging in the air, was that Jack could help him make friends.

He didn't need friends before he came to this place, and he'd be damned if he needed them now.

By the time the meeting was actually adjourned, it was too late to be led around the inside of the campus. All the teachers headed home. Pitch had to suffice with being led around the outside as Jack pointed out the different buildings and wings of where he would really be attending his classes, but there were only so many buildings, and it wasn't long before they came across the pond that was the center of the semi-circle of a campus. Benches and a gazebo surrounded it, the tall lamps along the walkway turning on as the sun had finally set.

Now this is a beautiful place... And the cinnamon is here too.

Pitch smiled and breathed in deeply at his thought before he realized he let something slip.

"What is it?" Jack asked, a light smile playing across his own lips.

Pitch didn't meet his eyes but rather looked out over the water, wishing he could enjoy it in peace.

"Oh, I get it, it really is, isn't it?" Jack stated.

Pitch glanced back at him, a trace of confusion, before he looked back out.

Jack tried to muffle a laugh. "It's beautiful out here. It's why I chose to go here and not a college out of state. Not because I grew up here," he hesitated and Pitch looked back to see his smile having faltered out before it picked back up, "but because of the pond. I sometimes come out here in the middle of the night and just sit, reading by the street lamps or watching the wind ruffle through the trees, almost as if it just wants the leaves to play." Jack trailed off, real happiness creeping into his voice, making it seem like he wanted to play with the wind. "You'll have to come out here sometime."

Pitch wondered what it would be like to do that, to just sit without a worry. He was never able to before he had moved here. His life was far too busy for him to enjoy the little luxuries peace had to offer. And another part of him wondered why Jack had hesitated, and then he stopped that thought in its imposing tracks. It really was none of his business, and he didn't need another thing added to his load. He dropped it, only saying, "I think I will," before walking to the water's edge.

Jack followed, staying a few steps back and away, as he watched the side of Pitch's face slip back into a relaxed smile, thinking that Jack couldn't see it.

Pitch bent down and put his fingertips to the water, feeling the slightly above-freezing water send shivers up his spine. I wonder what this place will be like in winter, he thought uncharacteristically, before he berated himself and stood up. He should stop thinking ahead of the present. If he could just make it day by day here, he should be fine this time.

"Once the pond freezes over most of the shee- uh, students come down here for ice-skating, and sometimes snowball fights get started by yours truly." Jack grinned one of the cockiest grins he thinks he had ever managed to pull off.

"Were you about to say sheep?" Pitch asked, turning to look at him.

"Uh, no, well... Maybe," Jack sighed, embarrassed, losing the grin he was so proud of.

"Jack?"

"Yes, Pitch?"

"I have this dreadfully terrible feeling we're going to be friends."

"Me too, Pitch. Me too."

This time, Pitch didn't mind Jack seeing him smile.

* * *

Pitch had just taken his keys out of the back pocket on his jeans when he noticed Jack walking towards the main road, his backpack slung over his left shoulder. Pitch thought it odd that Jack seemed to be alone, after all, wouldn't one of his friends wait for him? A nervous girl, at the very least. As he kept walking, it occurred to Pitch that he was walking home, and while Pennsylvania may seem safe, there were still many possibilities of injury on a freshly-graduated boy.

Pitch pressed the button on his keychain and watched his headlights flicker signaling that his car was unlocked. He slid inside with only a minor hesitation, closing the door behind him. He sat for a few moments, before he looked over at Jack who was still walking down the road. Surelysomeone would pick him up. If he doesn't have a car then his family must just be running late. Pitch tried to push it out of his mind, but realized he couldn't. No matter how much he hated the majority of social interaction, he wasn't going to let a mere boy dangerously walk home alone.

He cursed under his breath, thrust the key in the ignition, and threw the car in reverse before peeling out and down the road Jack was on.

Jack almost fell over when he saw the sleek, black car with tinted windows pull up next to him, the passenger-side window rolling down.

Pitch didn't look out at him, merely saying, "Get in," before he reached over to open the door and then settle back in his seat.

Jack stood dumbfounded, unsure of what to do. He had only met this man today, and from what he could tell he was fairly rude and sarcastic, incredibly passive, and didn't like being around others, so why would he give me a ride? He thought.

"I'll leave if you stare at me any longer," Pitch said, putting the car back in drive as if to annunciate his point.

"R-right," Jack hopped in the car without another worry and shut the car door as gently as he could. It looked too expensive to not be incredibly fragile.

Pitch started down the road again, never looking over at Jack, who was unsure whether or not he should say anything or sit awkwardly until the tension was broken. While he pondered that, Pitch answered the question for him, in the nicest way he knew how.

"Where do you live so I can get you out of my car?" He asked.

Jack's mouth fell open. How could anyone with a seductive voice liquored with a slightly British accent ever sound so rude?

"Well?" He asked again, clearly impatient what with the tapping his fingers were doing on the steering wheel.

Jack regained his composure.

"I'm pretty sure not too long ago you said we'd end up being friends, now why do I get the feeling you've never had one before?" Jack questioned, amused.

Pitch didn't have to look over to know there was a bright smile plastered on Jack's face.

He sighed heavily, "Oh I'm so sorry, my dear friend. Let me rephrase that," he paused, out of dramatics, "Where the bleeding hell do you live or do you want me to leave you back on the side of the road for vultures to find you in the morning?" Another pause. "My closest acquaintance." This time it was his turn to flash a cocky smile at Jack.

"I find vultures to be very good at conversation," Jack said with an air of intelligence.

"Oh really? How so?" Pitch feigned surprise.

"I just had to compare them to how good you are at it, and then they kinda won the gold medal themselves."

This time it was hurt Pitch feigned obviously. "Jack, how could you? And I thought we had been getting along so well... I guess it was just my imagination that I decided to give you a ride out of the goodness of my heart."

Jack's composure broke again and he started laughing hard, leaning forward in his seat. "The goodness?" A laugh. "Are you sure you didn't mean to say the blackness? After all you did just pick up a teenage boy on the side of the road. Let's think about how that looks."

Pitch laughed alongside Jack at the last comment as they finally neared the end of the campus road. Noticing where they now were, he looked over at Jack with a look that seemed to say, "Now seriously, which way?"

Jack snorted, "Take a left and I'll guide you from there."

Pitch did as he was told and drove, following the directions Jack spouted out at every corner. It turned out he lived not too far from the school, maybe only a five or ten minute drive, which made him wonder if he had ever had a ride, or if he walked. A short drive by car but a surprisingly long walk by foot. That thought led to another, I could always just start giving him rides, after all, as North had pointed out, we do have quite a lot of our classes together, especially the morning ones. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch- Pitch stopped the car in front of Jack's house. What am I thinking? I need to get this kid out of my car.

"Well, this is my stop," Jack said, "Though let's hope you've figured that out by now," he followed his sentence with a suppressed smile.

"Really? I could've sworn it was a few streets over..." Pitch said with confusion.

"And how exactly would you know where I live? I guess that's the price of being popular: I always get a few stalkers in the bunch." Jack sighed heavily, the suppressed smile being less and less of the adjective that described it.

"My dear boy, if I was your stalker, you'd know it," Pitch flashed a quick, seemingly seductive smile that showed off his slightly-unnaturally sharp teeth.

Jack gulped before he opened the door and hopped out, turning back to lean in through the window. He pulled a sharpie out of one of his many zippered pockets. "Give me your hand."

Pitch hesitated, but did as he was told, holding his hand out towards Jack. Jack grasped it, opened the sharpie with his teeth, and scribbled a number onto the back of Pitch's exposed hand. "There," he said when he had finished, slowly letting go, and putting the capped sharpie back wherever he had pulled it out from.

Pitch looked down before he looked back at Jack with his eyebrows raised, "And what might this be?"

"Coordinates," Jack grinned at Pitch's eyebrows that quickly furrowed in annoyance. "It's my cell number, just in case you need anything while you're still moving in," or maybe even after. "You can reach me anytime."

Jack started walking up to the blue door of his surprisingly large, light grey house, the shutters matching the door and the trim matching Jack's hair.

Pitch's eyes never left him as he disappeared inside the house.

"Maybe I will invest in one of those cellphones," Pitch smiled to himself as he drove away. "If merely for navigational purposes."


	3. The Chocolate Freedom of Abuse

**Chapter Three - The Chocolate Freedom of Abuse**

Jack walked in the front door of his house, sneaking a very secretive glance behind him that Pitch failed to notice, thankfully. I guess he decided to just watch me walk up to my house, he inwardly snickered as he leaned against the door once he was inside, I knew he was a stalker... And a handsome one at that.

While reveling in these thoughts, Jack stared at the hand that had briefly held Pitch's. It still felt warm, and it sent tingles throughout his body thinking of how warm the rest of him must be.

He was awakened out of his momentary happiness by a swift punch to the stomach.

"Where the fuck have you been, you ungrateful little bitch?" It was Jack's father, not that he would ever call him that. Fathers were supposed to love their children, not abuse, berate, and if they were drunk enough, sexually advance upon them.

His father didn't quite meet the correct definition.

A kick to the same place he had punched left Jack gasping for air and clutching his abdomen as he attempted instinctively to curl up in a ball to avoid more pain.

"Did you not here me?" His father growled.

"Yes, sir, I did," Jack managed to spit out.

"Look at me when I talk to you!" Jack un-tucked his head and unfocused his eyes so he wouldn't have to really look at the pitiful excuse for a man standing above him.

"Yes, sir."

"Where. Have. You. Been?" He asked, presumably for the last time, as he had his boot raised once again.

Jack honestly didn't want to give him the real answer, almost as if it would be a tiny victory for himself. "One of my classes ran late."

Another kick for good measure.

"Don't bullshit me, kid. I saw that car pull out. Who the hell were you with and what the fuck were you doing?" He was roaring now, and Jack found it difficult to think, let alone answer him. He stepped on the hand Jack attempted to push himself up with, the other of which was still holding his stomach.

Jack looked up once again, having lowered his head when he'd tried to get up. This time a determined fire was lit behind his eyes.

"I believe if you reword the question you asked, John, then my answer should suit you just fine." He paused, giving his father a moment to understand before he continued. "I was fucking a man a million times your class."

The boot that hit him in the face hurt in a triumphant way. It was worth it.

Jack spit on the floor, his pearly whites now a dark shade of red.

"Apparently you like being hurt, you fucking masochistic freak." He looked down at his son in disgust as Jack looked up at him in confusion, not understanding that his father knew such a big word. "I don't know how we ever could've had a child as disappointing as you." With that he walked off and up the stairs that were in the main entryway where Jack still lay on the floor.

Getting hurt this badly was a new move. Usually his father never hit him where people could see. After all, wouldn't want to be dragged away to jail, right? Jack felt himself lucky this time, though. At least his father wasn't drunk. It could've been a lot worse in a different way.

Jack struggled to his feet and leaned against the door once again. As he tried to get his breath back he looked into the living room to his left. His mother just sat there, eyes never moving from the T.V. She didn't seem to care too much about Jack, and he felt nauseous. He had always wished that at least his mother, Katherine, would stick up for him. But no, she hadn't from back when it'd started. Jack could remember that day all too clearly, and while he tried to shake his head and forget about it, the memory arose anyway.

He was only nine years old, just turned nine, to be exact. It was his birthday, December 6th, and he was excited that there was snow on the ground outside, since the birthday before was barren and snow was his absolute favorite at that age. He, Katherine, and his little sister Megan were waiting for his father to get home before they celebrated. When John had finally shown up, it was nearing ten at night and he smelt of booze. He had just lost his job at a low-standing law firm, and while his temper was short to begin with, on alcohol it was like his anger never left him. He threw Jack's cake and presents, crushing whatever was in sight. Katherine had grabbed Megan and tried to reach out for Jack before John grabbed him instead. Jack sent a pleading look at his mother before he saw Megan gripped tightly in his mother's hand. He mouthed, "Run," and his mother scooped up his sister and they did just what Jack had said up the stairs into Megan's room, most likely, from where he'd heard the bang of a door come from. He couldn't remember much after that moment, only that when he woke up his lips were swollen, he looked sickly pale, and bruises shadowed his face and body.

Jack never mentioned that day, neither did John, nor Katherine, nor Megan, though she was probably too little to clearly remember it all. Since then his parents had been very careful so as to not alert Megan to what was really going on. She remained blissfully unaware, but when Jack and John were in the same room, she always managed to get Jack to go play with her somewhere else. If Jack was able to pay attention when his father was anywhere near him and not fear for his safety, he might've noticed that she'd caught on. Maybe not to the full extent of what was done to Jack, but she knew to keep him away from their father. Megan was protecting him the only way she knew how, and Jack's subconscious was grateful for it.

He kept using the door for support, his breath coming in even rougher than before at what he'd just remembered. He stared forward now, not wanting to look at his mother. Their stairs were a dark-brown wood that Jack had never been able to place, not even after taking shop class in high school and acing it. It was the same wood that spread throughout the house like a disease. If there was something wooden, it was that exact shade and type. It made the house look neat, organized, basic; it made Jack sick just see. Any attempt his family made at looking totally normal made a little voice in the back of Jack's head scream at him that they weren't.

But Jack wouldn't believe it. He couldn't believe it. If he did the scraps of sanity he held onto would blow away in the wind, and then he'd never fully realize what was right and what was wrong.

* * *

After getting into his moderately sized bedroom, Jack collapsed onto his bed, not caring if he fell asleep in his clothes or not. Jack's room consisted of very little. A bed and a door against the left wall, a window on the far wall, a bureau on the right, and a closet on the front. He did manage to find the pocket that contained his cellphone, checking his messages before he planned to put it away on top of his nightstand that was to the left of his bed between it and the door. He only had one text, which wasn't all that surprising. Out of the mass of friends he had accumulated, very few actually bothered themselves with texting him. The one he was closest to, if he really thought about it, was the one the text was from. It was a boy named Jamie Bennett. A nice kid who Jack had grown up down the street from since he was in second grade and Jamie was in first. They'd been best friends until Jack had cut all intimate ties after when it first happened. Though it was nice hearing from him, in a way, Jack wished it had been someone else. Someone who had a sleek black car and an equally sleek black personality.

He sighed before opening it.

Hey, I saw you leave with Saint Nick, what happened?

It wasn't too late to reply, only a little past ten p.m., so he decided to.

He just needed some help with a new student is all, Jack texted.

It wasn't long before Jamie texted back.

Ooo, a new student? Is she cute?

Well, if guys are your thing then yes, he was quite cute.

There was a longer pause, which made Jack curious.

Haha, I guess I'll have to trust your judgment.

Another text came through from Jamie while Jack was wondering what to write back.

Are you busy right now?

Jack looked back at the clock. It was only ten-twenty now.

No, just lying in bed, why?

Meet me outback your house?

Staring at the text, Jack wasn't sure if he really cared all that much, but he figured he might as well, if only to piss off John if he found out.

Sure, see you soon.

Jack opened the window nearest his bed that was on the back of the house overlooking the yard. He clambered down, grateful that the shed was just below his window. He jumped off of the shed and landed with a soft thud on the grass.

Shit, he thought, I didn't lock my door. Jack peered back up through his window, wondering if it was worth it to climb back up, when he heard someone approaching. He whipped around to see Jamie standing there, looking the same as ever with his long, chocolate-brown hair falling into his face and blending with his equally chocolaty eyes. He was wearing a forest green T-shirt and dark jeans, though it might have been the lack of light in the yard that made the colors seem dark.

"Hey," Jamie said with a slight wave, not meeting Jack's eyes.

"Hey."

There was a silence that seemed to drag on forever.

"So... what did you need, Jamie?"

Jamie looked startled, almost confused, that Jack even remembered his name. They hadn't been close in a very long time, and the only way Jamie was able to be was if he joined in the crowd that always surrounded Jack and caught glimpses of him in-between classes, and then of course, there was the occasional staring contest he would hold with the back of Jack's head in the classes where he managed to snag a seat behind him.

He stuttered, "I was j-just wondering what you thought o-of the new student..."

Jack's eyes widened in annoyance, adding a slight furrow to his brow. "Jamie, why didn't you just text me that? I'm dead tired, it's been the longest day of the year, basically every part of my body hurts, and I just want to sleep. What was so goddamn important that you couldn't just text me?"

Jamie faltered, physically and emotionally, before he looked back at Jack. "I, uh, I..."

He made direct eye contact and Jack could see the determination that now flooded those mocha eyes.

Before Jack knew it, Jamie was on him, lips first.


	4. Sleepless Mornings, Sandy Butterflies, a

**Chapter Four - Sleepless Mornings, Sandy Butterflies, and Old Beginnings**

Pitch slammed the door to his apartment a bit harder than he'd like to admit.

He cursed under his breath. If he woke up his neighbors not only would he get reamed out by them, he might actually feel a bit of remorse, and thoughts of others can't get in his way. Not now. Not after how far he's come.

Pitch stumbled through his minimally furnished flat to his bedroom and attempted a graceful fall onto his bed. He ended up on the floor, staring at the ceiling. He wasn't tired, far from it. He just couldn't get these thoughts out of his head. They wouldn't leave him alone, and every time a small glimmer of hope appeared that they were gone, they'd be back, tearing him apart from the inside out. He grabbed onto the sides of his head with force, as if he could actually press these things from his mind, and curled into the fetal position.

His liquid-gold eyes stung with fast-flowing tears even after he had closed them.

He could still smell that natural scent of cinnamon, and he could still feel wisps of her hair brush his face, and he could still hear her giggles of happiness, and he could still remember how she had looked when she'd died.

* * *

An alarm clock rang out in the otherwise silent apartment. Pitch would've stood to silence it, but not even the shrill sound could knock him out of his stupor. He hadn't slept that night; he wasn't able to. Sleep evaded him as much as he wished his memories would.

Instead he just laid there in his little ball of comfort wishing that it would end and that it would last forever at the same time. As much as he couldn't take the horrendous pain wrenching through him, he didn't want it to leave. He didn't want to forget what he had done; didn't want to forget how much she had cried out for him to help her; didn't want to forget the silence that had never left.

The day passed and another night came before he managed to make it to his bed. Exhaustion that would later be thanked crashed over him and he slept blissfully, only sandy butterflies and golden wildflowers entering his dreams.

* * *

When he finally awoke, he felt surprisingly well rested. It was now Saturday, and he cursed the fact he'd missed his first day of classes on Friday. Luckily he had the whole weekend to come up with an explanation for his absence, his next class bright and early Monday morning at eight a.m. Pitch grabbed his long, black winter trench coat and his keys and headed out the door to at least get a bit of well needed shopping done.

As he locked the door behind him he heard a soft splashing sound and looked out the window at the far end of the hallway. It was . Of course it would be raining today of all days. The one time I actually get up to do something.

It wasn't that Pitch hated the rain; in fact, he loved it, just not today. Though he felt well-rested, there was still an underlying fear residing in him, and while usually he would welcome the clouded skies and isolated lightening, today he couldn't let the rain make his thoughts focused as they always did. He didn't need a repeat of the other night.

Pitch headed down the stairs and out to his car, not bothering to pop back into his apartment for an umbrella. He just pushed up his collar and trudged out into the rain solemnly.

Whipping his keys out as he approached his car door, he thought that maybe it was a little excessive. The car he had bought, that is. It was absolutely beautifully dangerous. A Mercedes SL65 AMG Black Series, suitably painted black. He remembered seeing it once while reading a book when he had turned on the television to have a little bit of background noise. He can't remember quite where, some sort of British racing show, but he instantly fell in love with it. While the lead had said it wasn't as fast as it could be, and a tad uncomfortable, Pitch went out and tried it out for himself, finding the ability to cruise slowly through the winding roads of Pennsylvania useful, not needing to ever use the supposedly slow max speed of over 300 horse-power, and the inside comfortable for him.

Needless to say, it wasn't exactly worth the large amount of money he'd spent on it from a financial standpoint, but he still melted in the seats when he entered the car. After all, money wasn't much of an issue for him.

The thoroughly melted Pitch, now seated in the car, began his short drive to the small downtown area and found a parking space. He double locked his doors and began trekking down the sidewalk, peering into the local shops for exactly what it was he needed. He wandered into a seemingly locally owned convenience store that doubled as not only a gas station, but a grocery store as well. It was a bit large for Pitch's liking, but thankfully the rain had thinned out the crowd of people he normally would've had to deal with.

He walked gracefully down the aisles with a small basket on his arm, setting various items in it. Mainly it was tea. Lots of tea. He picked up a few boxes of chamomile to help him sleep, a few earl greys to calm him down, and then some standard Red Rose, which he would throw a bag of into whatever flavor he'd decided on at the time for a bit of an extra taste. He then proceeded to grab different types of creamers for it: coconut, hazelnut, vanilla, and regular cream. Fruit followed next, a few star fruits and some green apples, then random boxes of cereals, random types of meats, then eggs, bread, milk, butter, and vegetables. By the end of it all he'd had to pick up another basket.

Pitch headed over to the cashier.

While he set his items up on the belt, he noticed a slightly smudged set of numbers on his hand. Oh right.

He looked at the worker.

"Is it possible to purchase a cellphone here? And a phone card. I'll most likely be needing one of those as well."

* * *

Pitch paid with his debit card and headed out of the store, putting the groceries in the back of his car, and slid into his front seat. He reached back and pulled out the thin, slim silver phone, using his keys to saw open the hard plastic around it.

"There we go," he mumbled to himself once he'd got it open and activated with the card. "Now, what was that boy's name again? Jake, Jude, Jackson. Right! Jack."

Pitch tapped the now even more smudged numbers into the phones contacts using the touch screen and labeled it Jack Frost. Without seeing his mother's surname before his last, Pitch found it amusing. I suppose that would be a fitting name for someone with snow white hair, he thought to himself as he breathed a small laugh followed by an even smaller smile. But what was he doing? He was supposed to be avoiding these people and events. He shouldn't want to leave his apartment for anything other than school. It wasn't fair that he could live his life while he knew that she would never be able to live hers.

Pitch practically smashed the keys into the ignition and gunned it down the road much faster than any other person would or could drive in Pennsylvania. He looked out for the nearest desolate place he could lay down in without having to go back to his too-far-away apartment. He finally passed a park after minutes of searching and jumped out of the car, not bothering to lock it, and ran over to the nearest swing-set secluded by a group of trees. The rain was poured down now by the angels and soaked him through his thick coat, and Pitch just sat there.

In the rain.

Alone.

On a swing.

Except that he wasn't as alone as he appeared to be.

A small golden form watched him from the bushes, awaiting a chance to jump out.

* * *

Pitch woke up a few hours later on the incredibly wet grass and stared up at the grey clouds, amazed that none of the still-falling rain fell into his eyes, and then he saw the reason why.

Some little tan thing was hovering over his head and licking eagerly at his face. Its tongue was much rougher than any human's should be, and it appeared to be drooling. Pitch's vision was still blurry and in his broken state he still hadn't registered what it was that was really above him. He sat himself up on his elbows in an attempt to clear his head, and immediately wished he hadn't. A throbbing pain shot through the back of his skull and he realized how he'd ended up on the grass. He'd fallen off the swing.

Fighting through the pain, he remained leaning back on his elbows and investigated the wriggling mass in front of him.

It was about the length of Pitch's chest to his abdomen, judging from the way it was laying out on it and not caring about the change in Pitch's position. The previous notation of its color wasn't in fact entirely correct. He peered through his blurry eyes and saw that it was a bright, golden sandy color with white on its mouth, stomach, and paws. Wait, paws? This was when he figured out what the little bundle of practically illuminating fur was: a dog. A Pembroke Welsh Corgi, to be exact. Pitch didn't know much about dogs, but due to his childhood in England, he knew about Corgis. Everyone did. They were the Queen's favorite breed, after all.

The dog didn't have a collar, which was surprising since Pitch had never really seen many stray dogs in this town since he'd moved in a few weeks prior. It stared at him with its oddly bright yellow eyes as if asking him what he was doing lying in the rain in the first place.

"I don't have to answer to you, dog." Pitch hesitated. "Did I really just talk to a dog?"

He tried to push it off but the dog went dead weight and refused to get off of him.

"What in the bleeding hell!? It's freezing out here and I just want to get back to my apartment!"

The dog looked up at Pitch with sad eyes and whined, silently begging Pitch to take him back to the so called apartment.

"Fine, whatever you want if you just get off of me. The rain is getting worse by the minute." At that last word there was a flash of lightening and then a loud rumble of thunder. The dog jumped at the loud noise and Pitch used the opportunity to stand up. He looked down at it.

"Now go home," he said pointing in a random direction through the torrent of rain.

The dog just flattened its big ears as best as it could and lay down in the grass as if trying to prove to Pitch that the park was his home.

"You irritate me." Pitch briskly walked over to his car and was about to open the door went he felt a tug on the back of his pant leg. He looked down to see the Corgi softly gripping it in its teeth.

"Oh fine! Get in the bloody car you twit." He opened the door and motioned for the dog to get in. It jumped up onto the driver's seat and then across the gear-shift to the passenger's side. Pitch leaned in the car and the Corgi gave a short bark that sounded like a laugh to him. He quickly climbed in and closed the door, leering at the sandy ball of fur. "You're coming with me."

Pitch turned on the car and drove back the way he had come to the store he'd been at only a few hours prior. He picked up the dog and held it as he went into the big shop.

"Uh, sir, we don't allow dogs in here-," a short man said to Pitch once he'd entered. The man stared at him like he was the strangest thing he'd ever seen, and Pitch figured that maybe he wasn't too far off on that matter. He was drenched, in a winter coat and the same clothes he'd worn two days prior due to his breakdown, still had all of his piercings in (the man looked to be the age where he didn't agree with men wearing jewelry), and he was carrying an equally drenched tiny Corgi who looked as happy as it could ever be.

"I understand. Most places don't. It's not hard to come to the conclusion this store doesn't as well," Pitch cut him off.

The man just stared wide-eyed.

"Do you have one of those community bulletin boards?"

Now he looked puzzled.

Pitch gave an exasperated sigh. "Where members of the community hang up want ads, fliers, and missing pet reports? It shouldn't be this difficult to comprehend. If we had them in England then you Americans definitely should."

The man finally seemed to get what he was trying to say. "Uh, over there, by the other entrance. Most everyone in town uses it, sir."

"Thank you," Pitch nodded curtly and headed over to it.

"Uh, sir, you still can't have that dog in here." The man called after him.

"Bite me," he said without looking back.

The Corgi he was holding must've thought that comment was addressed to it and started gnawing on Pitch's sleeve.

"Will you stop it?" He glared at the dog as they finally neared the bulletin.

It looked up at him gingerly and then kept gnawing.

"You'd be a very fluffy coat. Just realize that fact."

It stopped.

Pitch chuckled and looked through the papers nailed to the board. "I can't do this while holding you," he muttered to the dog. He looked behind him at the few other shoppers and workers that were all staring at him. Bite me.

He grabbed the nearest shopping cart and set the dog down in it and pulled it up beside him. "There we go," he smiled brightly as the dog looked up at him in disdain.

Pitch went back to leafing through the papers. After about twenty minutes and seeing every flier he gave up.

"Nothing at all. Not even one missing dog report. Either nobody wanted you, or you really must have lived in that sad little park." The dog barked in agreement to both statements. "But really, it must've been the former." It turned away from him this time, seemingly with an air of Look at all the fucks I give.

Pitch pushed the cart back over to where that short man was still staring at him open-mouthed.

"Which way's the pet aisle?"

The man pointed towards the back of the store.

"And the crafts?"

He pointed again.

"Thank you," Pitch said turning his back and heading in that direction, ignoring the still staring people.

"But, sir-"

"Say one more thing about the dog. I dare you."

The man didn't dare, and Pitch kept moving along.

He heard a few of the children exclaim at the cute little dog in the shopping cart that wagged its tail eagerly at each of them before their parents grabbed their hands and pulled them away from the strange soaked man who broke the rules of their store.

But it wasn't like Pitch could take it back to the park now. The little thing was annoying as all hell, but in a way that reminded Pitch of his sister-

This was the first time Pitch had ever thanked God for anything, He dropped down in the pet aisle he had finally made it to and laid his head on his knees that he clutched. No one was around this section of the store, and he was eternally grateful for that.

The Corgi bent its head in puzzlement and tried to sniff at the wire meshing of the cart to see what it was its new master was doing. It barked when Pitch didn't get up immediately and then again after ten minutes had gone by. The dog rocked the cart back and forth trying to tip it over, and jumped out when the cart leaned enough to the left for it to be able to.

It clambered up Pitch's back and sat half on his head, nuzzling it. When Pitch didn't respond, it went dead-weight like it'd done in the park causing him to fall over and smack his head on the ground. The pain of the blow that the linoleum caused mixed with the already present pain of the fall off of the swing woke Pitch from his horrendous thoughts. The dog licked the side of Pitch's face apologetically before he sat up.

"Thanks, I guess," he mumbled as he patted the top of the dog's head. It yipped happily and nuzzled his hand. "Alright, that's quite enough… Uh, boy?" Another happy yip. "I guess I'll have to take your… Uh, bark, on that…" Like brutally bleeding hell I'm going to check that.

Now really only half-conscious, Pitch continued his saunter down the aisle with the Corgi back in the cart. He plucked everything off of the shelves that the dog barked at: wet food, dry food, animal-safe shampoo, a wire brush for the small matts the dog obviously had in his fur, chew toys, a Frisbee, treats, a leash, a brown collar, and a bed. They went to the crafts aisle and picked up a thin poster board and a set of black sharpies before they checked out.

As they left the store the short man stood in front of the bulletin, staring at what they had left, wearing his little pin that told his title of manager. A poster board was tacked up sloppily with the words, "Annoying, yellow male Pembroke Welsh Corgi found. If you want it back, call this number. If not, and I could honestly understand why you wouldn't, don't call. It's simple." The mentioned number was scrawled underneath the short paragraph. The poster in question covered the entire bulletin and all of its other papers.

The man thought to remove it, and then decided not to, picturing the strange man's face when he came back for more groceries if he saw it was gone. But at least now he understood why that strange man had a dog with him, even if it wasn't allowed.

* * *

Once they arrived back at his apartment, Pitch unloaded the groceries from the first trip he had made alone, and then unloaded the rest from the second trip while the dog ran around excitedly, getting everything in sight wet.

Pitch hung up his drenched coat on the rack by the door and sat down in front of the door after he did, looking at everything else that was now soaked due to the dog. It was amazing how quickly it could cover his large apartment that was the entire top floor of the complex in rainwater.

To his left was a small wall, about two feet long if he had to guess, where the coat rack and mat where he kept his shoes were cornered. At the end of the wall it indented into a big kitchen with an island and various cooking utensils and wares hanging from the ceiling above it. The side of the island Pitch could see had a couple of barstools and an area for eating, while the far side had an indent downwards where the stove was and the rest of the indented counter. There was a step up from the ground floor that ran along where the wall would've continued had it been longer.

The left wall of the kitchen had a closet filled with assorted non-refrigerated items. The right wall had a small glass table with two chairs, not that he'd ever had guests, and a black vase of white roses in the center of it with two matching black placemats. The far wall had a dark silver fridge in the right corner and an equally silver sink built into the countertop with a window above it with black blinds. All of the countertops were a dark black marble, and the wood underneath them was a charcoal grey that went with the cupboards that were above everything on the far wall. The walls themselves were a jungle green that Pitch had mixed with black so it was a few shades darker when he specially ordered it.

Straight ahead of him was a hallway, and after the eight foot long step that went up to the kitchen, the wall continued down that hallway. There was a door to the left that was a bathroom, all of the amenities either dark black or dark silver like the kitchen, and it also doubled as the laundry room, containing a washer, drier, and hamper on the opposite wall of the cornered shower.

The door at the end of the hall was the master bedroom where he slept. It had its own bathroom that matched the other except for the dark golden walls. In fact, the walls of the actual bedroom were painted the same color. He had a king-sized four poster bed at the far end of the room in between two windows with black curtains, an ebony piano in the front right next to a cherry-wood violin, and black bookshelves covering the front left that went up to the celling and over where the door was to the private bathroom and finished off covering the entire left wall up to the far one. The far right wall had a black bureau cornered in it, and the actual right wall had beautiful and colorful paintings that went from floor to ceiling all over it, only two inches between each one on all sides, and each one was a different size. They all depicted different settings of nature, works of architecture, or mythology, except for the one in the middle. It was the largest, painted on a seemingly black canvas, and it had a small, golden, sandy butterfly in the bottom far right of it flying up to the top left where a blue-white light shown down. The butterfly left a trail of sand behind it, though Pitch always thought of it more as dust or the wings of the butterfly fading away, and he should know, since it was the one painting he had done himself. There was a nightstand to the left of the bed, a music player sat atop it, along with an alarm clock. The bedspread matched the walls, the pillows, the ornately-patterned rug that was half out from under the bed that spread across the room, and the butterfly.

The door on the right of the hallway was a spare bedroom Pitch rarely used that had a window at the end of it. It was where he kept all of his unused paints and music sheets in neatly stacked piles in a cabinet, and it was the only room in the house with brightly colored-blue walls.

To his right, from the start of the hallway to the door he sat in front of, was where the living room branched out. It had a step down from the width of wood flooring that continued in front of him down the hall. In the center of the living room was a fireplace whose chimney led up to the celling and out of it onto the roof. It only cost a few flashes of bills to convince the manager to let him have one here, and it upped the value of the apartment as well, so really it was a win-win situation. The apartment itself already had a nice view of the city, being on the top floor. The fireplace was bricked and had a metal grate in front of it and more bricking underneath in a small square radius. There were two black leather seats cocked in opposite parallels that faced the fire with a small black stand between them that had wall-matching green coasters and a rug patterned the same way the one in his room was only colored green this time.

On the opposite side of the fireplace a 39' flat-screen TV was mounted to the chimney, jutting out ever so slightly on the sides. A black leather couch sat facing it with a glass coffee table in front of it that had a few books piled in one corner and a sketchpad topped with remotes and a mechanical pencil in the other. A rug was underneath it all that equaled the one on the opposite side of the fireplace. There was a step back up behind the couch and the wall behind it was completely bricked with an ornate metal sculpture hanging from it. In the right corner was a pine tree undecorated in a black pot and in the left a cornered black bookcase. The wall that was the spare bedroom's outer wall, or the living room's left wall, had three squares of faux brick that were separated three inches apart and in the middle one a metal butterfly, that was done by the same sculptor that did the one behind the couch, hung.

All of the flooring throughout the apartment that might as well have been a house was hardwood like the kitchen with darker hardwood for the trim along the steps, and all of the lighting came from either the windows that were in every room besides the living room, or the overhead metal lamps that were present in every room.

Almost everything in this house-apartment had water on it, and the now exhausted Corgi sat down in front of Pitch, panting heavily, and seemed to say I cleaned things up for you. You're welcome.

"Why did it have to be a dog?" Pitch said to the ceiling before rising up off of the floor and grabbing a towel from atop the drier. He then went to work wiping up all of the water he could find before he realized he was dripping water everywhere too. "Bloody hell…"

Pitch grabbed the dog and carried him into the bathroom, wiping him dry and putting the new collar on him. He took him to the spare bedroom once he was done and set out food, water, and the dog's bed. The Corgi ate quickly and hungrily, and Pitch had to set out more food before turning on the light and leaving, closing the door behind him.

He quickly remembered something and went back in, throwing a few of the chew toys down near the dog, who looked at him, questioning. "I, uh, thought you might… Alright, I'm done with this. It's ridiculous. I'm not going to explain my thinking to a dog." He stormed back out, closing the door again, and went across the hall to the bathroom and began peeling off his wet clothes. He threw them in the washer along with the towels he'd used on the floors and the dog and stepped into the shower.

He turned the pressure on low and the heat on high in an attempt to get the chill out of his bones. The warm water helped, and eventually he gave in and just ran a bath. It was nobody's business what he kept in his house, but he had some bubble-bath under the sink and he poured that into his tub before getting back in. After it filled, he turned off the tap and lay peacefully until he finally felt his coldness ebb away and the water's start.

Pitch climbed out and wrapped a towel around his waist before he headed to his bedroom. He pulled out a pair of boxers from his bureau and put them on before he once again headed to the spare bedroom he rarely entered. He opened the door and looked down at the dog that lay curled in his dog bed, almost asleep.

"I'll leave this door open in case you want to get the lay of the flat in the night." If Pitch wasn't so tired he would've thought the dog nodded, but then again, his breed was one of the smartest, so it wouldn't be all that uncommon for him to understand basic words. Especially if he had a previous owner. Pitch shut out the light and cracked the door, giving a last look at the tired-out dog, and padded down the hall for the last time that night. He crawled into his bed under the covers and discarded the towel he'd left draped on it to the floor. It wasn't long before he was asleep.

* * *

"Please, just take me, don't hurt her. We didn't do anything wrong. Just take me! If you have to take one of us then take me! No, stop it! Let her go! What are you doing to her! Stop! STOP! STOP IT! GET AWAY FROM HER!"

Pitch charged at the intruders in a rage-filled attempt to get his sister back to him. He was only eleven years old; his sister was even younger, a mere six years old. He wasn't strong enough to get her back; there was no way he could. But even though deep down he knew he wouldn't be able to, even though he knew his parents were already gone upstairs in their beds and no one would hear their screams, and even though he knew it was already too late to save her, he fought hard. Kicking and screaming with everything he had.

"Big brother…" And Pitch stopped trying to get free and made eye contact with his little sister. His darling little sister that he loved unconditionally. Who was more of a daughter to him than a sibling. He made eye contact with her just in time to see one of the intruders cut her throat and drop her to the floor.

The tears that already stung at his eyes spread and spread until he couldn't see her anymore. Couldn't see her lying on the ground lifeless, a slightly smiling expression in a last attempt to comfort Pitch plastered to her face.

"Phina…" He whispered, choking back his own vomit. "SERAPHINA!"

* * *

Pitch woke with a jolt screaming out his little sister's name like he must've been doing in his sleep. He started crying so hard he started coughing, and then coughing so hard he had to run to his bathroom and be sick. When he returned to his bed he still felt tears running down his face and could see them gently drop onto the comforter and soak in slowly. His curtains were drawn and he didn't notice the time of day, but he didn't need to. He went under the covers and continued to cry until he felt a weight on top of him. He wiped his face sloppily and pulled down the blanket so he could see what it was.

The little Corgi that reminded Pitch so much of her, so much of Seraphina, sat on his chest staring down at him with as worried an expression a dog could have.

"I'm fine. Go back to your bed," Pitch mumbled unconvincingly. The dog nuzzled Pitch for a moment before pulling back the covers with his teeth and un-stealthily climbing under them to lie next to Pitch.

Pitch still felt the tremors and the fears of his memory-filled nightmare and hugged the dog to him, crying into his fur and shaking. He didn't know when, but as some point, they both fell asleep.

* * *

When Pitch woke up he realized one: that he didn't have another bad dream that night, and two: that the dog had drooled all over his sheets. Pitch sighed and moved to get the thing out of his bed so he could wash his sheets but gave up when he noticed the dog was already awake. It had gone dead-weight yet again.

It wasn't that Pitch couldn't lift up this surprisingly large for his breed Corgi, it was that every time the dog did this it somehow added twenty pounds to its weight and always managed to do it at a time when Pitch couldn't properly sit up for the leverage needed to push it off. It really was quite the clever little bastard.

The dog continued to fake asleep but Pitch knew better.

"Remember how fun it was sitting in the rain yesterday all alone in the park? Would you like to do that again?"

The dog rolled off of Pitch and onto his back glaring at him, causing Pitch to laugh as he sat up and the dog to bark.

"But I do suppose if it wasn't for you I would've had another…" He trailed off, not wanting to remember. "It's a bit like you cause good dreams. I suppose that makes you the Sandman." Pitch chuckled and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

The dog barked happily and jumped up.

"Oh please, that you like? Come on. We need a better name for you, like, Mansnoozie, because I bet you snooze like that of a man." Pitch laughed to himself at his horrible pun he found genuinely amusing. The dog just sat down, put a paw on Pitch's hand, and looked at him with eyes that seemed to say You really need to get some help, don't you? This sobered Pitch up from his awful laughing fit and he glared at the dog for not finding his joke funny.

"Fine, fine. Sandman it is, but by bloody hell if I'll call you all that. How about Sandy, for short?"

Sandy barked happily yet again and jumped on top of Pitch, knocking him back down, and licked his face.

"That fur coat is sounding better and better by the minute…"

Sandy hopped off of the bed and ran out of the room.


	5. The Abnormal Life

**Chapter Five - The Abnormal Life**

It was Sunday when Pitch finally called Jack. He simply stared at the screen, not recognizing the number.

Jack was terrified

He kept replaying the events of that first day he'd met Pitch, only a few nights before, and what'd happened to him. Not only was he beaten when he entered the door, the first friend he'd ever tried to reach out to (even though it was the friend who put out his hand first and Jack had ulterior motives) had already been scared off.

* * *

Jamie had roughly pushed Jack up against the side of his shed. Jack was so surprised he didn't move and went stiff. If Jamie hadn't had him pinned with his hips he would've fallen to the ground. After minutes of Jamie trying to coax him into kissing back, Jack finally did, forgetting everything else around him except the feel of Jamie's lips.

They were soft and Jack was sure his would be rubbed raw by morning if the way they were kissing continued. He hooked his arms up under Jamie's and held onto his shoulder blades. Jamie happily sighed into Jack's mouth and wrapped his arms around Jack instead of having his hands pressed up against the shed. He kept his hips where they were.

Jack relished in the flavor of Jamie. He tasted like the personification of light and Jack couldn't get enough of it. He slid his tongue into Jamie's mouth and licked the roof of it slowly, as if counting the ridges he found there. Jamie moaned and pushed his own into Jack's. They twisted them together and savored the feel of the writhing, heated contact.

Jamie pulled back a bit, uncoiling their tongues, biting the tip gently as he exited, and headed to nip at Jack's bottom lip. Jack felt heated in every place that touched Jamie, and he squeaked when he felt him move down to lick under his jaw and down his collarbone to where his hoodie started. The blush that was already present on his face from the cold of the outdoors and the heat of the moment was masque over with another layer of red from his embarrassment at his own noises. No one before Jamie had ever made him squeak before, and Jack couldn't tell if he liked that or not. _Oh the hell with it_ was his last thought before he thrust one of his knees between Jamie's and started rutting off against the thigh that was there.

Jack felt a hesitation from Jamie at his movements and thought to stop before Jamie looked up at him with practically starving eyes and copied what he was doing to his own leg. They descended into a rhythm of loud gasps, continuous panting, and the occasional moan of absolute indulgence.

Eventually Jamie took back the lead when he realized they were both too close to ending the glorious thing they'd started. He froze his hips in place and almost burst out laughing at Jack's utterly annoyed groan of, "What the fu-…"

He could feel how hard Jack was through his own pants and moved one of his hands from Jack's back down to unzip them.

Jack moaned when he realized what the other was doing and undid his own buttoned ones. Jack put his hands back onto Jamie's shoulders and waited for the younger to continue with his plan.

Jamie moved both of their erections out of the comfort of their warm boxers and into the cold air. Jack inhaled sharply at the loss and attempted to move for the friction that had warmed him in the first place, but Jamie held him harder against the shed and carried on. He placed them against each other before he went back to his earlier motions and Jack did the same, falling into their previous pattern of noises.

Jamie continued to clutch onto Jack with one hand while Jack moved one of his up to Jamie's hair, fisting into it on the upstroke up their hips.

It wasn't long before they were both shivering messes and close to coming.

"Ja-Jamie… I'm…"

Jamie heard his plea and used his free hand to grab both of their members and stroke them together while they continued thrusting.

"Ahh… Ah!" Jack whined at the highest pitch he thinks he's ever accomplished and felt his vision bleed white as he gripped his holds on Jamie and came on his T-Shirt.

Jamie finished moments later, matching the now present design that was on his shirt to Jack's hoodie, and kept rubbing and rocking through their orgasm.

They leaned on each other, panting heavily and violently until Jack snapped to his senses and realized what really had just happened. He looked up at Jamie, almost a head taller than him even though he was younger, and saw his eyes closed in bliss. Jack didn't know what to do next.

But it was settled for him.

A raging cry was the only warning either of them got before they were both sprawled out on the grass. Jamie quickly tucked himself back into his jeans and stood up while Jack mirrored his movements slightly slower, still not understanding what was happening. He should've figured it out sooner.

John was standing there, his arms out to his sides, his hands balled into white and red fists. Jack had no idea how either of them didn't notice the backyard's sensor light turn on that was around the corner, but it had, and it illuminated John's seething face perfectly.

It was the second time in Jack's life he looked at someone he loved and mouthed the word, "Run."

* * *

Jack gasped at the memory. He hadn't dared to leave his house since that night, and he felt bad for not being able to show Pitch around to his first classes on Friday, but there was no way he could. John would find him if he climbed out the window, and if he unlocked his door even for a moment he was sure his father would hear and come clambering up the steps for another round of beatings.

In the yard that night John knew if he wanted to beat his son as badly as he needed he would have to do it to Jack's body and not his face. After all, nobody wanted the cops involved. It wasn't their business how he punished his kid, or so he thought.

Jack could barely move after, and was locked out of the house. He slept on the grass that night and woke after John had already left for work. He hoisted himself up painfully atop the shed and crawled in through his window, locking it behind him and then locking his door as well before he slumped onto his bed.

When he'd look at himself later in a mirror he'd notice how bad he really looked, but for now he could only guess at the welted and bloody bruises that littered his torso and were so many that it actually looked like one big one.

Thankfully Jamie had made it off the hook, running with concern in his eyes but knowing if he went back there he'd witness Jack getting reprimanded by his father and that would be horribly awkward, especially since of what it was he was being punished for. He hadn't seen the murderous look that had been given to him due to the glare of the back-light, and didn't see that same glare passed over to Jack, or else he would've stayed. He probably could've helped. But he didn't. He couldn't have known what would happen. Not even the small pained noises Jack had made at the lip-biting, which he now realized must've been swollen, or the equally pained noises Jack had made when Jamie had first attempted to grab him, alerted him to what was really going on in that house.

Needless to say, Jack missed the call.

* * *

Jack sat on his bed, holding his knees to his chest and leaning his forehead on them. He was starving, not that that was new to him. He heard his family enjoying dinner downstairs in the dining room the night before and he couldn't believe no one had come to get him, but oh wait, yes he could.

John had probably not let Megan go see what her brother was doing, and like Katherine could be bothered enough to show emotion to her son.

After Jack's ninth birthday she'd bleached and dyed his hair white, as if proving to herself that he wasn't part of their family anymore; that he was dead to them. Maybe that's why she chose white, not because he loved the snow or winter, but because it made him look the part of a ghost.

Jack had never chosen to believe the truth and decided for himself that the reason his mother had dyed his hair way back when was really because he loved those things and it was a nice thing for him.

He'd been bleaching his hair ever since, and he ignored the look of horror he got from Katherine whenever a brunette streak would show up in his hair. It was one of the few times she paid attention to him, and while a tiny part of Jack wanted that acknowledgement to last longer, he still went along with the dyeing. It wasn't worth it.

She'd missed her chance to be a mother.

Jack opened his eyes and fell backwards onto his soft blue blanket. He hated this place. He truly did. There were few reasons he stayed. One was because he was afraid of John, another because of Megan, and also that his parents were paying his tuition, or Katherine was, to keep Jack out of the house as much as possible. He didn't see why she wouldn't just kick him to the curb, but then his heart ached when he realized it was because she needed him to be the one that John focused on. Not her or Megan.

And Jack accepted that role without a second thought, still not realizing he shouldn't have that much responsibility pushed on him; that it was wrong; that he needed to get out.

That he needed to get his_ family_ out.

He continued to stare at the off-white ceiling until the afternoon rolled around and he finally ventured out of his room and down to the kitchen.

John would be at work around this time. He had to be.

Jack tiptoed the entire way there and his breath caught in his throat when he made it.

Katherine was _cooking_, or seemed to be.

"What… What are you doing?" He said, taken aback, before his mother turned around with a face that mirrored his. They hadn't spoken in years.

Jack saw her hand and was almost sick on the spot.

She'd laid it on the stove with it on.

Jack ran over to her and yanked it off.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" He shouted at her general direction while he turned the stove off and wetted a paper towel.

He grabbed her wrist again and put it under the now-running cold water.

This seemed to knock her out of her stupor and she shrieked in pain.

"What did you do to me?" She screamed, clutching her hands to her chest.

Jack just stared at her, not moving. Her brown eyes were filled with betrayal, and Jack hated her for looking like his sister so much, and having the same brown colored hair he used to have.

He gripped her wrist again, ignoring her struggling and crying, and he wrapped the wet paper towel around it. Jack may not have been the biggest in his class, but he certainly wasn't the weakest. He picked up his mother in a princess carry, not paying attention to the pain it caused him, and took her up the stairs to the bathroom and set her down to sit on the edge of the tub. He reached under the cabinet-ed sink, pulling out the first aid kit he had used so many times on himself. The anti-bacterial cream was right on top and he quickly spread it over her hand before she could complain, kneeling in front of her. The gauze went next, and then the wrappings that would keep it in place.

Jack huffed when he stood up from his position and moved to leave the room.

He felt arms hug him from behind, and his mother rested her head on his back.

"Jack…" She whispered uncharacteristically. It sounded like she actually _cared_.

Jack pulled away, avoiding her bandaged hand, and turned around to look at her. She had tears dripping down her cheeks and love in her eyes. He hadn't seen that since she'd baked him a cake and they'd waited with Megan for his father to come home.

"Where have you been?" Her face was in an expression of utter longing and remembrance and she lifted a hand to reach out to Jack.

Jack bit his tongue as he felt his own tears start to rise to the surface.

Before she managed to grab the sleeve of his hoodie Jack wrenched himself back, causing her to flinch.

"What the hell do you mean where have I been? I've always been here! You have no right to care about me now! It's too fucking late for you! You're not my mother," he trailed off for a moment, sucking in a breath before his suppressed tears started falling, and ended his fit of justified rage. "I never had a mother. You're like a fixture in this house, only moving when John," he spat the name, "needs you for something. Don't try to love me. I didn't deserve to have you as a mother." Jack ran back to his room and locked the door.

He tried to forget the different emotions that had run through her eyes: first the love and care, then the anguish and hurt, then the broken and cracked unnamed ones.

He didn't hear anything past a thump coming from the bathroom down the hall afterwards. She must've fallen to her knees because when Jack heard John find her hours later, there were angry stomps that sounded like he was trying to carry her into their room. _Like he could be troubled to help his wif_e.

Jack fell asleep with a still empty stomach.

* * *

When Jack woke back up, the sun was barely starting to set.

He sighed heavily, sitting up and throwing his legs off of the side of the bed. Somehow he still had his Converse on, and now that he thought of it, his hoodie from that night with Jamie… _Oh shit_. The consequences of that night sunk into Jack finally.

It wasn't that Jack didn't like Jamie, he'd just always been a friend, and then there was that transfer student. Jamie was definitely going to get the wrong idea on that one. Jack had no idea how he was going to handle classes the next day with both of them.

Should he continue with Jamie? Keep it going? Did he even have time for another person in his life right now?

As much as Jack desperately craved someone to hold him and be there for him, he didn't think he would be able to make that someone Jamie. Jamie just didn't make him feel the way he thought someone like that should make you feel. He loved Jamie, sure, but as a brother.

Right now he had to deal with his confused and muddled emotions that involved his mother, and then he promised the Dean he'd take care of the new student, and then he also had to find time to play with Megan.

_ Wait… Where is Megan?_

Now that he thought of it, he hadn't seen her when he went downstairs earlier and found his mother. Thank God she didn't see that.

Jack stood up and unlatched his door, slowly creeping his head out and looking back and forth between his parents' bedroom and the stairs opposite it. Once he saw that the coast seemed to be clear he headed to his sister's room across the hall from his.

Megan was asleep in bed, holding close her stuffed snow-monster. It was her favorite toy. Jack hoped she'd had it earlier and had slept through the commotion him and his mother made.

His hope quickly vanished.

He could see in the dim light how puffy her eyes were and the spots on her stuffed animal that seemed to be darker from wetness. Jack felt like a horrible brother and wandered into her room completely, shutting the door lightly behind him. He went over to her and brushed the brown hair out of her eyes. She opened them at the soft touch.

"Jack…?" Fresh tears welled in her eyes and she grabbed him into a hug.

Jack sat on the edge of her bed and hugged her close, burying his face into her hair. After a long while she pulled away, remaining in his lap.

"I heard," she sniffled, "you and mommy fighting-" she hiccupped and rubbed the tears out of one of her eyes sleepily. She always seemed younger than she really was.

"Shh shh shh," Jack cooed, hugging her to him again. "I'm sorry you had to hear that." He tried to change the subject. "Your birthday's coming up soon. What do you want your big brother to get you?"

"You don't have to treat me like a little kid," she huffed at him, breaking the hug once again. "I'm turning twelve!"

"Right, right. I'm so sorry, your elegance," Jack smiled. "What very grown-up present do you desire?"

She placed her head in her hand, leaning forward on her elbow she balanced on her knee.

"Well, he's been lonely lately. Like when I go to school." She pointed at her snow-monster, sitting back up.

"Ah, so a new toy?" She frowned at him. "I mean, a new friend?"

She grinned like how all little girls should grin: like a princess.

"Exactly! A new friend! That'd be perfect for him!"

"Well, I guess we'll see what Santa has in store for you," Jack winked.

Unlike most kids her age, Megan not only still believed in Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and the Sandman, but she also believed that Santa delivered every kind of presents, not just Christmassy ones.

"Aww, Jack! But what if he doesn't get it for me? Can't you?"

"I'm sorry Megan. Magical beings have rules, and we both know rules are rules. I can't interfere in his present business." He waved his hand, dismissing the idea.

She snorted, "I'm pretty sure you've never cared about getting into other people's business."

Now it was Jack's turn to grin like a princess.

"I have no idea what you mean by that."

"Oh shut up," she play hit him.

"Really? You thought you were gonna get away with that?" He squinted mischievously.

Her eyes widened in mock fear and excitement as Jack hoisted her up in the air and swung her around.

"Jack! Put me down!" She squealed happily.

Jack sat her on his shoulders and handed Megan her snow-monster.

"Let's go get a treat," he said flinging her door back open and running quietly down the stairs. Jack didn't want the day to come when she got too tall for piggy-back rides. Right now she was the shortest in her class, and while sometimes she got upset over it, he was glad.

Once they'd made it to the kitchen, Jack tried to not remember what'd happened there earlier, and had Megan open the freezer. Thankfully there was some cookie-dough ice cream. She grabbed it and Jack set her down. He went over to the cabinet that was over their counters and pulled out the cones he definitely knew they had.

They made their cones, Megan in fits of giggles at Jack's frosty and ice cream related puns.

They went into the living room once they'd finished and turned on the T.V. Jack gave her free reign of the remote and she went to the DVR, turning on her favorite show.

As much as he hated to admit, he loved this show too. It wasn't always for kids, scratch that, it really wasn't a kids show at all. It was completely awkward and adventure-filled, and it always made him happy at the stupid-ness of it.

Her favorite show was Adventure Time. She'd picked the gender-bent episode this time, "Bad Little Boy."

It was Jack's favorite episode, mainly because he loved Marshall Lee.

They sat together laughing at the Ice King being taunted by Marceline, sang along with Fionna and Marshall's duet, and teared up a bit at the end when Marshall got speared, even though they both knew he was faking. They laughed again at the Ice King, and the episode ended.

Their treat was long gone by now but they kept playing episode after episode. They watched the one where it was Ice King in a horse costume watching Finn and Jake sleep, the one where B-MO was lost and married a bubble, the one where Finn saved Fire Princess with his last breath through a kiss, the one where Tree Trunks lost her apples and yelled at flies, and the one where Finn went to the land of pillows. There were countless others they ended up watching as well, and after a while switched over to basically Disney's version which was Gravity Falls, and then The Amazing World of Gumball, and once Jack saw Megan had fallen back asleep, he put on The Holiday.

For some reason he felt like watching a romance movie. He quickly got sucked into the plot, loving the incredible chemistry between the characters. His favorite in this movie was Graham, played by Jude Law. He loved his voice. It was absolutely gorgeous. He couldn't put his finger on where, but he'd thought he'd heard it recently. Jack brushed that thought aside since he hadn't seen any Jude Law movies in a long time, and continued being entranced by the movie.

It didn't feel like too long to Jack before Jude and Cameron Diaz were saying there goodbyes. She was leaving England, headed back to California, and of course he was staying with his two daughters. She left, but on her way, she started crying. She hadn't been able to since she was a little girl. Cameron jumped out of her limo and ran back to the house she had swapped for a few weeks prior. She walked in to see Jude crying just as much as she was, if not more. They ended up together, finding a way to make their relationship work.

Jack turned off the T.V. and cried silent tears into his pillow. That part always got him.

After a good ten minutes of hard crying, he wiped his face and picked up the still-asleep Megan and carried her back up to her room. Jack tucked her in with the snow-monster, shut out the light, and quietly slipped out of the room and into his.

He once again realized he hadn't really eaten any real food and cursed to himself as his stomach growled, seemingly at the small amount of ice cream he had eaten and still unsatisfied. Jack looked at the clock and noticed it was already way past midnight.

He peered over at his phone, wondering who it was that had called him earlier, and immediately realized who it must've been. Oh duh. Pitch.

_He was probably calling to see why I didn't show up Friday. Shit. I shouldn't of missed the call._

Jack tried not to think of the reason why he'd missed it in the first place and opened up his messaging. He saw a few new texts from Jamie, just asking how long he was grounded for and if they could hang out again soon.

Jack mentally sighed, and then did out loud as well.

He'd get back to him in the morning.

Jack started up a new text to who he thought was Pitch after going to put the number into his contacts.

_ Hey, sorry. This is Pitch, right? I know it's kinda late, but I'm really really REALLY sorry about not helping you out on your first day. I had some family stuff come up and I couldn't make it to school._

Surprisingly, he got a text back almost immediately.

_It's not an issue. I've been up anyway. Not very knackered. You weren't at class Friday either? I had some of my own business I had to take care of. I guess we both felt equally bad without a reason. _

_ That works. I'm happy I didn't miss anything then._

_ Miss anything? What do you mean by that, Jackson?_

Jack felt shivers run down his spine and he paused. He could just picture Pitch saying that in his little accent.

_ I thought I told you to call me Jack._

_ So you did, but why avoid the question?_

Jack sighed.

_Because I don't like to lie unless it's for my own personal enjoyment, and I don't plan on telling you the truth._

_ You sound a bit too much like me at the moment._

_ I can't tell if that's good or bad._

_ It's all about perspective, Jackson._

_ Do I have to repeat myself?_

_ I'm afraid you very well might._

Jack could picture Pitch's smug grin at that. There's no way he didn't have one painted on his face by his own text.

_ I give up. Call me whatever the hell you want._

_ That's more freedom than I think you realize you're willing to give._

_ What do you mean?_

_ Just think the amounts of names I could come up with for you._

_ Well, I guess you're right then. I take back what I said._

_ Too late for that. You let my imagination wander. Now, which do you prefer: Jackie, Frosty, or my king?_

_ First of all, I'm not a girl. Second, you can't buy me at Wendy's. And third, well actually, that has a nice ring to it._

_ Too bad. I favor the first two._

_ Don't you even dare call me those in class._

A little bit of a pause.

_What'll you do to me if I did?_

Jack felt his breath quicken. Why was it that this person always made him feel like he didn't have enough air? And it just wasn't when he could tell there might be an innuendo there, there definitely was one now, it was just being around him. He'd only know him a few days for fuck's sake.

_ What should I say?_ He thought to himself. This conversation could go one of two ways.

_ I'd have to think of a suckier name for you._

There was a much longer pause this time. Jack imagined Pitch not expecting that as an answer and chuckled that he'd managed to throw him off.

_ What do you have in mind?_

_ Let's see… How about Koz, or Bitch, or maybe the Boogeyman._

_ Well. I understand the first, the next wounds me, Jackie, but I get the rhyme scheme, and the last one, now where did you possibly come up with that?_

_ It's because I bet you freak out little kids._

_ You might have a point there._

That sent Jack into a fit of laughter.

_ I knew it._

_ I suppose you did._

After not knowing what to say back for minutes, Jack wracked his brain for a new subject.

_So what's your first class tomorrow? Or should I say, today._

_ Anthropology, I believe._

_ Oh jeez, I've got that too. The teacher can be a real pain._

_ No one resists my charm for long. I'm sure I'll woo whomever it is over._

Jack bit his lip.

_ Keep talking that way and your ego will end up bigger than mine._

_ That's fine. I'm sure a lot of my things are bigger than yours._

Well, that was much more direct. This conversation was no longer good for Jack's teenage hormones.

_ Give me an example._

_ My car is bigger than your non-existent one._

_ Oh you clever bastard_, Jack thought.

_ Compensating for something?_

_ I don't have the need to. Get your mind out of the gutter, Frosty._

_ Not possible, sorry._

_ At least you're responding to the name now._

Jack cursed out loud.

The rest of their texting battle consisted of more of the same: slight innuendo's Pitch had no intention of following through on, irritation at each other's nicknames, and then maybe some relevant questions about the school, or things they had in common.

Once they finally said goodnight, it was already four a.m.

"You've got to be kidding me," Jack said to his phone's clock. _I haven't talked that long to anyone since…_

He cut off his thought and laid down, more tired than he'd realized now that his head wasn't being stimulated by trying to think of witty remarks.

It didn't take long for him to be fast asleep.


	6. Lost Sleep, Fresh Places, and Justice's

**Chapter Six - Lost Sleep, Fresh Places, and Justice's Pained Hands**

Pitch got up shortly after Sandy and went to work washing his sheets. _That damn dog._

He turned on the shower after finishing his little chore. He was thankful he had only been wearing boxers and didn't have more than that between him and getting in to the heat of the shower.

As he felt the water cascade down his body he suddenly thought of Jack. He didn't know why that boy would pop into his head then of all moments, but he did. Pitch had never considered himself to like people before, and he still didn't understand the feeling he got from the short time he had been near Jack.

In all honesty, he'd never been able to have a real steady relationship, not that he'd ever tried. He'd gone on dates, yes, but nothing more and nothing less. He'd never even held hands with someone besides his sister when he'd help her cross the street to school-

Pitch quickly shut off the tap and got out of the shower. He'd been thinking about Seraphina too much lately, or maybe not enough.

He soon found himself in front of his bureau that really was more of an armoire and he pulled out some clothing. Nothing too fancy since he didn't plan on going anywhere today. Just an old Tim Minchin long-sleeved T-Shirt he'd ordered online straight from Australia back when he was in High School, boxers with gray and black horizontal stripes, some surprisingly light jeans, and black socks that matched the background of his shirt.

Realizing he still hadn't bothered to take out his piercings and wondering how he didn't notice before, Pitch undid the tiny metal contraptions and laid them over on his night stand. He paused before opening a drawer near the bottom and pulling out a small golden box covered in butterflies. He started to lift the lid before he faltered in his movements and shocked himself out of what he was doing.

He hadn't looked in that box since she'd died.

Pitch stuffed the box back into the drawer he'd pulled it out of and left his room, headed for the dog's room, as he now mentally called it. He hated that he did.

Pushing the dark wooden door open, he saw that Sandy had gone back to his dog bed after Pitch had mentioned that fur coat yet again a mere hour before. Though Pitch wouldn't admit it, the dog was starting to grow on him. Sandy was energetic and playful; he was just happy and filled with light.

Pitch smiled to himself. A small smile that spoke wonders about how he really felt about everything around him.

Sandy uncurled himself and looked up at his new master. Pitch's smile disappeared as fast as it had come and he motioned for the dog to follow him. He grabbed the brush and shampoo he'd bought before and dragged the Corgi into the bathroom. He then filled the tub with an inch of water and rolled up his sleeves. Sandy jumped in the tub, excited at what he realized was happening. Pitch huffed and lathered him with shampoo, rinsing him off afterwards with the detachable showerhead.

Before the dog got a chance to shake itself dry, Pitch grabbed a towel and threw it over him, laughing with a closed mouth as he started to squirm trying to get free. There was no way Pitch or his house was going to get watered again. He then moved on to brushing out the Corgi's fur. He sat on the floor with his legs crossed and Sandy in front of him. It didn't take long before there wasn't a matt in sight and Sandy had a smug look on his face from being pampered.

Pitch sighed, went back to the dog's room (_bloody hell_), grabbed the thing's bowls and food, and took it out to the kitchen, setting it partially underneath the table. He filled up the dishes with kibble and water and set out on making himself food.

Although he wasn't sure why, Pitch wanted the dog with him while he cooked.

He made himself some earl grey tea using two bags for extra strength. Two scoops of sugar, honey, and some coconut cream were mixed into it. He liked it sweet.

While he took down a pan from above the stove and started frying up an omelet, filled with peppers he had sliced and cheese, he sipped at his tea, contemplating his earlier thoughts.

The dream he'd had last night was more vivid than he'd had in months. He thought it was getting better. In a small way, he felt it was because he was starting to finally accept her death, but if his nightmares started to be as real as that one, he wasn't positive if he would be able to ever get over it.

_But why was it triggered? Why was this one so horrid?_ Pitch didn't understand. There were quite a lot of new things in his life at the moment. The dog reminded him a bit of her, that could've been it, and the more he thought about it, the more he thought he was right.

Sandy was much too expressive for a dog. It was like he truly understood human emotion. If it was him that triggered the nightmare, was it worth it to keep him, even if he was the only thing that could comfort Pitch after? Then what if the night mares pursued even after the Corgi was gone. What then?

He finished eating and put his dishes in the sink, figuring he would get to them later, or just have the maid do it. Pitch wondered what she was going to say when she saw the new addition to the house. He chuckled to himself. A maid wasn't much needed around his apartment, though it was quite large. Pitch kept things tidy and neat. He never spoke to her aloud about the real reason she was there, but they both knew. She only worked two days a week, and she would pick up a few things if they were in disarray, wash the occasional dish he left in the sink, and chat on and off to him. That was why he needed her.

No matter how solitary someone is, eventually they need someone else to talk to.

Pitch had moved from New York to Pennsylvania. He spent his childhood and high school years in England, and once he'd graduated he decided to study abroad. He didn't have any family to speak of, and his parents' mansion he had lived in previously was staffed by enough people it made him feel at least a little bit like he did have one. Once he was finally on his own, he realized he couldn't be. After three years of college at NYU, Pitch moved to where he was now, immediately hiring someone to at least be around on occasion. This town was small enough that he knew he could meet people if he wanted to. While he finished his last year of college, he thought he might attempt to branch out. He'd already been in this place for almost three weeks and yet enrolling in the nearest college was all he'd done besides shopping.

Jack Frost, not including his maid, was who he'd talked to the most. That was one conversation, three days before.

Pitched sighed heavily and continued sipping his tea. He took his phone out of his back pocket and checked the time. It was before noon. He'd thought it was later.

Opening the contacts list, he tapped on the only number he had and pressed call.

He listened to it ring.

After a minute, he hung up. There wasn't an answer.

He sighed just as heavily as he had before and carried his cuppa down into the living room. He noticed the chill in the air and started up the remote controlled fireplace. He missed the one he'd had back in England where you'd have to put the logs in yourself and light it with matches.

Sitting on the couch he snagged the leather-bound sketchpad he left on the coffee table and opened it up to a fresh page. He held the pencil above the paper with his left hand, wondering what to draw. He'd only ever had inspiration to sketch Seraphina or butterflies, the thing she loved the most in the world besides her big brother.

Sandy thankfully interrupted his thoughts as he trumped over to the fireplace loudly and lay down in front of it with a huff.

Pitch started in small strokes, looking up occasionally at Sandy to make sure he hadn't moved. He sketched out the ears, then the snout, his body, then the tiny paws that were lounged out across the floor, and finally the tail that had stopped wagging when he'd fell asleep.

After an hour Pitch finished up his drawing, using hatch-shading on it and making sure the fire's light looked like it was flickering.

He hadn't drawn anything in a long, long time.

Pitch set everything back down on the coffee table and flicked on the T.V. The newest Star Trek movie was on. He always did enjoy watching the old shows when he was a kid, The Next Generation being his favorite. The butler would sit with him and explain all the parts of it he didn't understand.

He smiled sadly to himself and got comfy, sprawling his long legs on and off the couch, his right arm draped over the back of it.

The heat mixed with the oddly familiar voice of the new Captain Kirk and Pitch found himself having a nap after being awake only for a few hours.

Later that night, after he'd played with the dog a bit, done another drawing of it chasing a butterfly, and watched a couple movies, a text came through on his phone. He pulled the vibrating electronic out of his pocket, noted the time as being well past midnight, and opened the message.

It was Jack, but really, who else could it have been?

Pitch fumbled for a moment and sat up off the couch, jumping Sandy out of his position at the other end lying on Pitch's right leg. He quickly replied and they delved into a long conversation, longer than Pitch had had with anyone in years. It lasted for hours, and besides the horrendous nicknames they'd made for each other and the few inappropriate implications he'd made, it was oddly normal.

He even found himself laughing and smiling at parts.

But all good things must come to an end, and eventually it died down, more out of exhaustion on both parties than actually wanting to stop. Pitch bid Jack a farewell and stuffed his phone in his back pocket where he now kept it.

He smiled to himself as he wandered to his room and quickly undressed. He pulled back the covers on his bed and saw Sandy, looking as innocent as ever, curled up underneath them. Pitch's smile grew uncharacteristically sweeter, most likely due to the nice conversation he'd had before perking him up, and he crawled into the bed next the dog. He only roughly pushed the Corgi over to the other side of it once.

Once.

Pitch's alarm clock went off much sooner than he'd expected it to. He looked at the clock. It was already seven forty-five._ Sodding hell!_

Pitch yanked the blankets off of himself and ran to the bathroom carrying his clothes from the day before and throwing them in the hamper, grabbing his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans before it went through the wash. In milliseconds the water was hot and running and he was washing himself, skipping his hair, and back in his room with a towel around him and phone in hand.

Once in front of the armoire, he grabbed out clothes quickly. A long-sleeved button-up charcoal shirt, dark navy briefs, casual black pants that hugged him in all the right places and bunched up at his knees and ankles, and dark socks. He put in his piercings that he'd laid on the nightstand and the phone in his pocket.

He practically ran to the kitchen, filled up the dog's bowls, then to the shoe mat, grabbing his black boots he'd worn the day before. He opened the door and cursed out loud before slamming it shut and running back to his bedroom, snagging his keys off the nightstand and his bag from next to it, and jogging back out, yelling a quick, "Don't ruin the house while I'm gone, mutt," over his shoulder before he closed the door and locked it.

He sprinted down the steps and out to his car, ignoring the looks from the other tenants and passersby outside. He unlocked his car with the contraption on his keychain and hopped in. It wasn't long before he found himself peeling down the quiet roads of Pennsylvania to his new college.

The campus road was just as beautiful as the first time he saw it. He wished he'd had time to admire it on this drive, but there really was none. It was already seven fifty-five.

As he sped he slammed on the brakes as he widely turned a corner. There was another student running down the road in front of him wearing a small backpack. The student turned around at the squeal of brakes, thankfully far enough away that there would've been no chance of a collision, and smiled brightly with a wave of his hand.

Pitch cussed and honked his horn, motioning for Jack to get in his bleeding car.

Jack ran over and jumped inside, ignoring the fact that Pitch hit the gas before he was completely in the car.

"In a hurry, are we?" Jack asked with a mischievous grin.

"Be quiet, Frosty. I slept past my alarm due to _someone_ keeping me up last night." Pitch huffed, turning another corner.

"At least I didn't try to run you over."

Pitch pretended like Jack didn't say anything. "You slept through yours as well, I take it?"

Jack didn't respond right away and Pitch looked at him out of the corner of his eye. Jack's grin was gone, replaced by some wistfully sad emotion in his eyes. He just replied, "Yeah," and though it was painfully obvious he was lying, Pitch dropped it.

"If the professor asks, I blame you for being late."

"Hey hey now, you could've not replied and been your usual rude and cynical self," Jack's grin returned.

"You know how I usually am, do you?"

"I can only assume."

Pitch smiled as they finally neared the parking lot.

"You are right, though."

They laughed as they got out of the car, carrying their bags.

Jack checked his phone and told Pitch the time, it was already eight.

They raced down the interlocking hallways. Pitch, naturally faster due to his long legs, slowed down to follow Jack. Once they made it the door, Jack adjusted his jacket to look less disheveled, and Pitch didn't need to adjust anything. Not a hair was out of place. Jack must've noticed because he shot him a quick glare that made Pitch chuckle with a closed mouth before he turned the handle on the door. They walked in and immediately all eyes fell on them.

Pitch heard the teacher rap on his desk and address Jack in front of everyone. "And where have you been, Mr. Frost and Mr. Pitchiner?" He sounded angry, and Australian.

"We overslept, Mr. Bunny," Jack smiled like the Cheshire cat.

"If you're gonna address me proper, mate, use the full name. It's Mr. Bunnymund." He furrowed his eyebrows angrily but didn't question the implication of the 'we' statement as much as Pitch did in his head.

Jack laughed. "But how can I do that when your nose always twitches? I mean, come on, act less like a bunny and I won't call you that."

Professor Bunnymund's nose twitched ever so slightly, as if on cue. "See me after class you little ankle-biter."

"I'm hurt."

Jack led Pitch up to a back corner of the room, not acknowledging a look some brown-haired kid gave him who seemed much too young to be in college. Pitch regarded him and saw utter anguish and maybe a bit of anger in his eyes. Pitch smiled at the chap and sat down at his new table.

Jack took out a notebook and pencil. Pitch followed suit.

Their teacher finished his fit of glaring up at them getting situated and went back to teaching his anthropology class.

"As you can see here from slide B, the indigenous people of Australia were the first to create, what we call today, the boomerang," Bunnymund taught.

Pitch slowly stopped paying attention. He had a 4.0 GPA and there wasn't much that could bring it down, especially since he always acquired the notes online. The fact that he also skipped the majority of his freshman classes helped as well. In New York they'd offered he could just take them all his senior year to make them up and by then there was no way he could fail them, just as a precaution and also so that he could basically take a break his last year.

God only knows what he plans on doing after college. He had wanted to be an artist, and also accomplish a bit of writing on the side. He wanted to paint what was Seraphina so everyone could see her beauty and write about her to tell everyone why she deserved to still be there. Sadly, he hadn't picked up a brush nor a keyboard since a few years before, but he still continued on his path, if only to leave wherever he was staying at the time for a little while to attend a class.

Now taking anthropology, the study of man and culture, Pitch thought maybe this class would excite him; help him with the backgrounds of peoples that he could draw emotion from, maybe even help him better show who she really was. He just hoped he was right, and if he continued down this path of artistry and writing, it would eventually help him come to terms with her death. Though if the bad dreams he'd been having lately were any indication, he might never forgive himself.

His little daydream didn't take too long, and Pitch found himself wandering his eyes around the classroom until they stopped on the teacher.

Mr. Bunnymund looked too young to be a certified teacher. Pitch had always imagined education to be equipped with age, but he supposed he was wrong. Bunnymund had to be in his thirties at the least. His hair was spiked up in the front and sides and went down into a long rattail in the back. It had an odd blue tint to it across a grey base and black roots. His eyebrows were just as black, and so was his slight scruff. Definitely not enough to be a beard, more like a day's worth of not shaving. His sideburns were short and flipped out a bit. He had rectangular glasses without a frame edge along the top, and every few minutes he would push them back up with his index finger. His eyes were a Celtic, sea foam green, and his pointer teeth were sharper than most and a dazzling white. He wore a dark grey suit that matched his hair and the elbows of which had oval black patches on them with a white button-up shirt underneath. He wore a black tie, and a silver chain that seemed to be paired with his glasses hung from his top pocket to his bottom one. Pitch assumed it was an old-fashioned watch. He also wore expensive looking black loafers that had a square point. Besides his eyes, the only thing colorful on him was the handkerchief in his top left pocket. It was colored to the extent that it looked like an Easter egg; colors jumbled yet blended beautifully; greens, pinks, purples, blues, and yellows. The rest of the suits accents, pocket lining and edging, along with the collar, were black.

Whenever he lifted an arm up to the classroom's whiteboard Pitch thought he saw the hint of winding tattoos, but he couldn't be sure. If he did have them, though, Pitch wondered what kind of life this man down in front of him led before he settled to the professor-standing he had now.

He felt a kick under the table and looked over to see Jack looking between him and the front of the room. Bunnymund cleared his throat and Pitch noticed him glaring.

"If you wouldn't mind, Mr. Pitchiner. I know it's your first day, but how about ya don't stare quite so much? Keep it in your pants, mate."

Pitch stood up and bowed gracefully as everyone stared up at him. "Excuse me, sir, but I'm afraid you're mistaken. I was merely getting my bearings and admiring the classroom. If my eyes stopped on you I do apologize, but it was an accident, though if I may be so bold, it doesn't have to be one." Pitch winked and the girls in the class started giggling while the guys couldn't help busting out in laughter.

Pitch thought he saw a slight blush creep across Bunnymund's face before Bunny realized the disarray his class had become and rapped on his desk violently. "Quiet down." Everyone sobered up instantly. "Mr. Pitchiner, one more comment like that and you can get off at the sight of me _outside_ of my classroom."

"Is that a promise?" The giggles and laughs started again although more hushed this time.

Before the professor could reply, Pitch responded with utterly faked sincerity, "Yes sir, I understand. It was a joke. I apologize yet again. Sometimes I just can't resist." Bunnymund accepted the façade and nodded while Pitch sat back down.

"Don't let it happen again, mate."

"I won't."

Pitch could see Jack smiling at him out of the corner of his eye. Pitch smiled lightly back. He was surprised at how uplifted he felt today, and took his time noticing Jack's outfit. He had on a plain, thin, black zip-up hoodie with a light grey cotton T-shirt on underneath. His white jeans were skinny, and he wore grey high-top Converse.

After more minutes crept by Jack passed Pitch a note indiscreetly.

_Way to get the teach to hate you on the first day._

_What else was I supposed to do? Get him to like me?_

_That would've been the best option, yes._

_I never was one for taking the quick road. I prefer the scenic route._

_The scenic route's gonna get you kicked out._

_But at least it will take me out in style._

Jack stifled a laugh and Bunnymund only hesitated before continuing his lecture.

_Now you're trying to use my generation's lingo? Come on, Kozzy._

_I'll have you know I'm only twenty-one, and the more nicknames you make for me the more I make for you. _

_Perfect. You can buy me booze._ Jack blatantly ignored Pitch's last part of his sentence.

Pitch frowned, annoyed, and Jack smiled_._ Pitch paused in writing his reply before a slightly evil grin appeared on his face.

_And what will you give me in return?_

_My virginity._

Pitch dropped his pencil and leaned out of his chair to pick it up before writing back, clearing his throat.

_A strapping young man like yourself hasn't lost their virginity yet? Well well, that's not as much as a surprise as I expected it to be._

_Oh shut up, Kozzy. Of course I have. Learn to take a joke._

_Perhaps it's you that should._

Pitch chuckled to himself and Jack looked annoyed_._

_What, so you're saying you've lost yours?_

Pitch hesitated once he read the last sentence, giving Jack enough time to snatch it back and write another.

_Thinking of a lie, were you? Look at that. Tall, dark, and handsome still has his V-card._

_You think I'm handsome, do you?_

Pitch watched Jack's face blush lightly.

_You know what I mean._

_Oh, but, I don't think I do. Why don't you explain it to me. _

Jack crumpled up the paper and stuffed it in his pocket, more annoyed than ever. Pitch grinned to himself at his accomplishment.

They sat in continued silence until class ended, though it wasn't much longer after their note-passing had concluded. As they walked out of class together, Pitch could feel eyes burning into the back of his head, but didn't turn around. It was most likely that student from before.

They were halfway down the hall when they heard someone calling out to Jack. Surprisingly, it wasn't the student, but the professor, looking furious, with a nose that wouldn't stop twitching.

"I thought I told you to see me after class, Mr. Frost?" Bunnymund hollered down the hall.

"Oh jeez, sorry Mr. Bunny," Jack replied. He looked back at Pitch. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

Jack brushed Pitch accidentally as he walked by and Pitch felt his chest constrain.

"A-alright," he managed in reply.

Jack turned around as he continued walking and smiled with a glint in his eyes. It was a definite possibility Jack meant to rub against him.

Scratch that. It was the only possibility.

Pitch watched Jack disappear back into the classroom. There weren't many students around to bother him so Pitch seated himself on a small bench in the hall. He realized he didn't have another class that day, and wondered why he was still waiting after about fifteen minutes of it.

He stood up and went over to the main door of anthropology and opened it, planning on explaining to Jack that he was just going to head to his flat.

What he saw wasn't what he was expecting.

Professor Bunnymund's belt was discarded in front of the door. The professor in question had his pants unzipped and was bent over the desk. In front of him was a heated looking Jack, clutching the edge of the desk so hard his fingers were white. They were panting heavily, and it still took a moment for Pitch to fully understand what they were doing. Bunny's thrusts continued and it finally clicked with Pitch.

_Oh. They're having sex._

Pitch's face turned a bright red. He felt his fists curl. He wasn't embarrassed like he had originally thought. He was _angry_. He was angry that someone was touching his friend. Was touching someone that was _his_. Someone that he _cared_ about more than he'd realize on his own. Jack was still a child for Christ's sake. No one was allowed to take advantage of a child. It was sick. It was wrong. They couldn't take her from him. It wasn't fair. He was older now. He could do it. He could get them off of her and hold her again and tell her everything was finally going to be alright. She could live the life she deserved and the one he wanted for her, no, the one he _needed_ for her. She could be happy-

Pitch heard Jack's cries he'd missed before.

"G-get… Get off... Get off of me!"

Pitch ran at his professor with full force, knocking him to the ground.

"What the-," Was all Bunnymund managed to get out before Pitch punched him square in the jaw. Again. And again. And again. Putting his full force into every punch and hearing bones crack and blood spray. This pitiful excuse for a human that lay bleeding in front of him as he continued to beat it was revolting. It made him sick to see. He kept on hitting, begging silently that they would just leave him alone. Leave her alone.

He eventually noticed something clutching his arm. He looked over his shoulder expecting to see Seraphina but instead it was Jack, staring down at him with teary eyes.

"Pitch… That's enough," Jack whispered.

Pitch looked at his left hand. His knuckles were bleeding and the bones felt shattered. He looked past it at Bunnymund. He was worse. His glasses were cracked and the skin over his right cheekbone and jaw had split. His nose looked a little cocked, and his eye was already swelling.

Pitch quickly fumbled off of him and stood up, slowly backing away. Jack looked between the half-conscious teacher and Pitch with an emotion masque by tears on his face. Neither of them knew what to do. They just stood there, not making eye-contact, for several moments. Eventually, Jack spoke up.

"He was… He tried to… I couldn't get him off of me… And then…" He sniffled, his eyes hollow and empty.

"Shhh," Pitch grabbed Jack gently to him, hushing. He petted Jack's hair with his good hand as Jack gripped tightly onto his shirt. "It's gonna be alright. It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. It was that sick fucker. It was his fault. You're safe now. You're gonna be fine."

_He looks just as fragile._

Pitch continued stroking Jack until he saw Bunnymund put himself into a seated position. Pitch pushed Jack partially behind himself and glared with such ferocity he thought it possible the teacher would burst into flames right there on the floor. Pity he didn't.

"You think it's okay to touch your students without consent, do you? I wonder how the Dean will react to hearing this. He'll take away your teaching license and you'll be on the street before you can say, 'God save the Queen,' you can be assured of that."

"Look, I didn't… I thought he would…"

"Thought he would what? Don't tell me you actually like the boy. You sick bastard. And raping him would help you how? Convey your feelings properly? Is that it?"

"I didn't… No… I didn't…" He mumbled, not meeting Pitch's gaze.

"Didn't what?" Pitch spat.

"I didn't think he would find it so bad…"

Pitch turned his head towards Jack ever so slightly without moving his eyes away from Bunnymund. "I would like you to leave the room now."

"But Pitch-,"

"Now."

Pitch didn't continue until he heard the door shut behind him.

"Where were we?" Pitch feigned curiosity as he took a step closer to Bunnymund.

The professor clumsily tried to edge himself away across the floor with his elbows.

"Oh that's right. How could it have slipped my mind." He stepped on Bunny's hand, causing him to cry out sharply. "You were explaining to me how what you were doing was an acceptable thing, correct? Or am I mistaken?"

When Bunnymund didn't immediately respond Pitch stepped down harder.

"Right, right, mate. Listen-," He begged.

"I'm not your 'mate'. If you think you can actually convince me what you were doing was alright, you're free to go. You can walk out of here and no one will have to know what you did." Pitch didn't even bother trying to hide the venom in his voice anymore. Not that Jack was gone now.

Silent tears dripped down the professor's cheeks, "I like him, okay? I like him. He's outgoing and maybe a little bratty, but he's witty like me. I thought that if I could just convince him- If I could just start it he'd like it. I didn't think he would… He would…"

"He would what?" Pitch again pressed his boot down.

"He wouldn't want it! Okay?! He gets around! Everyone knows that! If I had real feelings for him I didn't think he would mind!"

Pitch lifted his shoe and Bunny exhaled, clutching his hand to his chest. He looked back up at Pitch just in time to see that same boot lift off the ground and fly forward. Pitch kicked him back so hard he fell brutally onto his head. Bunnymund rolled over in pain, gripping the source of it.

"You disgust me." Pitch turned and began walking out, calling over his shoulder, "I won't tell the Dean, mainly because Jack and I both need this credit, but if you so much as look at the boy, or breathe his same air, I won't be going to the Dean for help anyway. I won't need it. I will break you." He opened the door that was already slightly ajar, smiled, said, "See you next Monday, professor," and slammed the door behind him.

As soon as he was in the hall he felt a pressure against him. It was Jack, hugging him tightly.

"I heard you in there," He mumbled into Pitch's chest as Pitch proceeded to put his arms around him. It was muffled, but he could understand.

"I don't think eavesdropping is a very polite thing to do, Jackson." Pitch whispered.

Jack lifted his head, smiling despite his nose and eyes being puffy and red from crying and the smile not meeting his eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you to call me Jack?"

"Right, I apologize, Frosty." Pitch smiled warmly down at him, not noticing Jack's empty demeanor.

Jack playfully smacked his shoulder but quickly delved back into the hug causing Pitch to laugh out loud.

"What's so funny this time?" Jack's voice was again muffled.

"You."

"That's not very nice, Kozzy." Jack breathed a small laugh.

"When have you ever known me to be nice? If I remember correctly, earlier you said I was cynical."

"Okay, okay, fine, you're cynical. Happy now?"

"Elated." Pitch chuckled causing Jack to do the same.

Pitch bent his head down suddenly to whisper in Jack's ear. "You heard what I said to him, right? We can tell the authorities if you wish. That doesn't bother me one bit to do so."

Jack pulled back. "No no, don't. I'll be okay." He tried to smile hollowly once again as a bit of panic crept into his voice. "You could get in trouble for what you did, too, and I don't want that to happen when you were just trying to help me out."

"If you change your mind, tell me immediately, alright? I'll drive to the police station myself," Pitch paused, "Well, if I can find it, that is." He lifted his right hand to ruffle his hair back with a tinge of embarrassment.

"I promise I will," Jack replied earnestly.

"Can I give you a ride home, at least?" Pitch asked, his usual behavior clicking back into place.

Jack hesitated and Pitch noticed his eyes widen minutely. "N-no, I can make it on my own."

"Jack, you're not walking home. Are you really that afraid of me?" Pitch smiled evilly.

"I-it's not that," Jack stammered, looking anywhere that wasn't Pitch.

"I was kidding." Pitch replied, serious and concerned again. He reached a hand out to Jack's arm. "Do you need to go somewhere else?" His eyes were filled with worry as much as he didn't want them to be.

"Can I just…" Jack looked up at him. " Can I just go to your place?"

Pitch faltered for a moment. "That's fine, but, uh, why don't you want to go home? I understand that maybe you want to get cleaned up a bit first if you don't plan on telling your parents but…"

"My knight in shining armor is denying me a carriage ride back to his castle? Come on, be a gentleman," Jack smiled brightly, vacantly, falsely, and this time Pitch did notice, but chose to ignore the blatant lie. Jack looked desperate.

"If you put it that way, princess," Jack grimaced and Pitch smiled wider and bent down, swooping an arm out and holding the other to his stomach in a bowed way, "Your chariot awaits." Pitch looked back up and met Jack's eyes with and absolutely wicked grin.

"Pitch… what're you doing?" Jack took a step back as Pitch stood up.

"Why, I'm helping you to the carriage, my lady," Pitch's smile grew darker.

"Pitch, no, don't you dare. Pitch-" Pitch cut him off by picking him up and holding him across both his arms gently, taking note of the fact Jack was most likely hurt. He pushed that thought aside before his anger could come back.

Jack gripped onto his shirt as Pitch started to walk down the hall.

"Put me down right now!" Jack struggled.

"Not a chance," Pitch flashed a toothy smile once he'd moved his head down close to Jack's and whispered his statement lovingly in his ear.

Jack gave up, blushing furiously, and went deadweight as a last resort causing Pitch to laugh whole-heartedly. "I have a feeling you'll like my housemate."

"Housemate…?" Jack questioned.

Pitch didn't respond and kept with his walk. The students that were being let out of their classes stared with envy, causing another blush to redden Jack cheeks and Pitch's face to be clad in a triumphant smile at having managed to not only carry the talk of the school, but also getting Jack's face reddened.

Pitch didn't realize, or didn't notice, the two pairs of eyes that were on him as he left. One pair green and full of amazement and confusion while the other brown and filled with despair and hatred.

For now, he didn't need to be aware of that.


	7. The Varied Hours of Breaking

**(I would like to thank my first reviewer on here. Sadly I cannot respond to anyone that doesn't have an actual account, which I find lame, but. Either way, thank you. I appreciate it so much, as do I of the other reviews I've gotten. You've all been so great, and same with the people on Archive of Our Own and Tumblr. Thank you for your continued support, and I hope I can live up to your expectations. I'm not a writer, and I'm not an artist, hell, I'm barely even a person when compared to some great people, but you guys have pushed me through, even if it's just your view that I see. Thank you so much ; u ; I love you all.)**

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**Chapter Seven - The Varied Hours of Breaking**

Jack woke up earlier than he'd expected from a night of texting. At first he'd thought he slept in, but by checking his phone his doubts were cleared. It was six a.m. Two hours of sleep accomplished. He sighed and raised himself off the bed, trudging over to his bureau and pulling out clothes for the day. Before he could turn around with his bundle there was a loud pounding that shook the hardwood floor. Jack didn't move.

"I know you're in there you little shit!" John screamed. He sounded drunk.

"What do you need?" Jack said calmly without turning his head to face the door.

"Get out here right now!" John roared with another pound.

"Are you gonna play nice?"

Before Jack could react, the door creaked and splintered open, the lock he'd installed himself now shattered and twisted behind him. He slowly turned. John stood there, looking as angry as he had the night with Jamie, and behind him, Megan had her door open just a crack and was peering out of it with tears streaming down her face and her snow-monster dangling from her small hand that clutched the edge of her door.

Jack's eyes widened. She couldn't see this. She _shouldn't_ see this. Without a second thought, he ran to his window and undid the latch as fast as he could. He had the pane open halfway before John grabbed him from behind. Jack's forehead smacked into the window trim and he fell face-first onto the floor with a bang. Attempting to recover and avoid what John obviously had in mind next, he rolled onto his back and kicked upwards at the closest appendage he could find. John grunted and fell on top of Jack. He tried to push the older man off but it didn't take and it wasn't long before John was back to fully enraged attention. He grasped greedily and hard at Jack's shirt and then his jeans. Somewhere, Jack heard a soft almost silent thud.

John stopped what he was doing and turned to look, providing a view for Jack to see as well.

Megan stood there, in Jack's doorway now, a furious look on her blotchy red face. She rubbed angrily at her tears and tried to push them away. Her snow-monster was what had made the noise. It lay on the ground behind John.

She'd thrown it at his head.

"Get off of him, daddy."

Their father was stunned. Jack took his chance, raising his arms and pushing hard at John's chest. Catching him off balance, the teen stood up, grabbed his bundle of clothes and backpack, the snow-monster, and Megan, and ran down the stairs and out the door without looking back. He ran and ran, down the street, not noticing a stray that hissed at him or the barking of the neighbor's dogs. He didn't stop until he reached Jamie's front door. Panting, aching, he rang the doorbell and knocked. Mrs. Bennett answered the door.

"Oh, hello Jack! Jamie was just telling me he saw you the other day!" She smiled warmly. Kindness and chocolate hair definitely ran in their family.

"Hello, Mrs. Bennett," he breathed back, setting Megan free from the grasp of his arm, and doubling over, catching himself on his knee.

"Jack! Are you alright?" Jamie's mom bent down and touched his shoulder.

Surprisingly, it was Megan that spoke up. "There was a big dog that jumped through our back screen door. Jack had to grab me and we went out the window," she paused, "Can I stay here and play with Sophie until our parents get home? Pretty please Sophie's mom?"

Mrs. Bennett bought the story and let Jack and Megan in without hesitation. She shuffled them to the living room and went to the kitchen to tell the family they had guests as the Frost children sat on the couch. If Jack wasn't so exhausted he might've felt bad for intruding on their breakfast. Maybe.

Jamie was the first one in and smiled warmly and brightly at Jack. "Jack! What brings you here?"

Sophie stumbled in shortly after. Her hair just as unruly as the last time Jack saw her, even though she was already about Megan's age by now. She ran over to Jack's sister and they hugged before Sophie grabbed her hand and led her upstairs, exclaiming, "Let's play!" Megan made sure to bring her stuffed animal with her and wave bye to her brother.

Jack smiled and waited for them to leave before he replied to Jamie. "Hey, I, uh, well…"

Mrs. Bennett came in and interrupted Jack's fake explanation with the one she thought was true. "Didn't I tell you? A dog got in their house! Can you believe that? Megan is going to stay here for the day until their parents are home from work." She left the room almost immediately after, remembering that she still had cinnamon rolls in the oven, from what Jack could hear her whisper under her breath.

Jamie stood near the couch and rubbed the back of his neck while Jack looked around.

"Can I take a shower? It's just, we have class in like an hour and I didn't get to at my house so…" Jack started.

Jamie brightened up. "Oh yeah! That's fine! You can use the one in my room. Er, I mean, I have my own bathroom, not like an actual shower in the room, like next to the bed, no, it's in its own room, off of my room, and it's mine, but wait, there's other things in there too, like a mirror-"

"Jamie. I get it. I remember from when we were kids." Jack laughed.

"…You-you do?" Jamie looked so happy he might cry.

"Uh, yeah, I do. Now let's go." Jack bit his tongue as Jamie smiled wider and his expression changed. He definitely didn't understand what Jack had meant by that.

"Let's go!" Jamie left the room and headed up the stairs with Jack close behind him, carrying his things.

Jamie led him to his bedroom. Jack remembered it taking longer when they were kids, but now that he was older, he could see the house was a lot smaller than he remembered, even if it was a two-story.

Jamie flung open the door happily, flicked on the light, and went over to his bathroom's door, opening that one, and again found the light switch. He stumbled back to his bedroom door and closed it, clicking the lock, after they heard a yell from Mrs. Bennett that she was headed to work and would be home for lunch to Sophie and Megan. Jamie went back to the bathroom, all the while Jack just stood in the center of his room not looking around. Afraid that a forgotten memory would come back; afraid that he would remember the life he'd missed out on having; afraid that he'd want it.

Taking the reaction for nervousness, Jamie padded over to where Jack stood and lightly grabbed his wrist, guiding him to the extended part of the room. The white-haired boy didn't react other than the movement of his legs, following Jamie without fully realizing what he was doing.

Once inside, Jamie shut the bathroom door, and Jack heard the click of another lock.

"Uh, what are you doing?" Jack questioned with a confused look and an involuntary harder clutch of his clothes.

"What we both want, Jack," The younger teen said, taking a step forward and raising his arms from his sides to reach out.

Jack stepped back and felt the edging of the tub on his calf. "Uh, Jamie, I'm flattered, really, but it's been a rough morning, and I'm still sore from running."

"I'll make you feel better, I promise. Just give me a chance," The awkward, nerdy Jamie was gone, replaced by a much more blatant one that Jack didn't know how to handle.

"Jamie, no, I-," The brown-haired boy shut him up with an eager openmouthed kiss.

Jack tried to push him off. "No, seriously, stop it, Jam- Ah!" Jamie'd run his hand down through Jack's inner thigh and roughly rubbed up and down, getting closer with each stroke to his groin. Jack again tried to move him away, but Jamie continued, grabbing one of Jack's wrists and holding it out of the way. He stopped his work on Jack's crotch and moved to take off the older's shirt while going in for another kiss with closed eyes.

Jamie succeeded and threw it behind him. He moved a hand to twist one of Jack's nipples before he thrust a hand beneath Jack's jeans and started pumping his member while rubbing his own hips below that same area. Jack automatically used his free hand to fist in Jamie's hair from the building pressure before he came back to his senses with a snap.

"Jamie! Get the fuck off me!" Jack snatched his wrist free that the younger had once again grabbed and shoved Jamie hard in the chest. Jamie fell backwards onto the white, squared tile and looked up at Jack with shocked and teary eyes.

The start of tears from the impact the floor made against his back and the shock from what he saw.

Jack stood looking down at him, not understanding the horror that slowly crept into his face. "What? Jamie, are you alright? I'm sorry, I just don't want that. Not right now, anyway."

Jamie didn't reply, and Jack finally saw why. He caught his reflection in the full length mirror that hung from the back of the door behind his terrified friend.

Bruises littered his body, still, from the beating a couple nights before. They were swollen, dark, and purple. Older ones were in the spaces, yellowed by now. You could almost see his ribs poking out of his chest, but only barely. He was heaving breaths, and there were bloody scars and indented teeth marks around his nipples from last week when John had been drunk yet again. His short bangs were flicked up out of his face more than usual and you could see the still bleeding mark from when he banged his head on the window sill a few hours ago. His lip still swollen on the bottom left side. He looked awful, broken, empty, and abused. He looked much like, or so he thought, what an attempt made by his father at having a happy family looked like.

He hurt, more emotionally than physically, and all of a sudden, he finally cracked. He collapsed to the ground just as Jamie scrambled to stand up. He didn't look at him and he gripped his face tightly with his white hands, ignoring the pain. Hot, salty, big tears fell and slid down his arms faster than he ever thought possible. He rocked subconsciously, trying to figure out what went wrong; where he went wrong; where his father went wrong. Of course it all led back to that one night, but Jack couldn't face that fact yet. It was his fault, for now, what had happened. As long as he thought it was, it would be.

The water kept flowing from his eyes he squeezed harder with his palms; his rocking picking up speed and going in erratic bursts. He started mumbling and whispering to himself.

"It's all my fault… I did it. He lost his job; I should've been more considerate. I shouldn't have cared so much about my birthday. I should've made sure he was okay… He wasn't. I deserved what I got. It was my fault. My fault. I can't… I can't… I can't!" His voice broke much like his appearance. "I can't do this! I can't do this anymore! I need to leave… I need to get away. I need to make sure she's okay; I need to make sure she's safe; I need to make sure he's happy. Why can't I just do that? Why am I so selfish that I want to leave everyone when they need my help? Why is this happening… Why did I have to make myself deserve this… Do other people feel this way? Do they want to live, and live for the people they love? If they do…" He raised his head and fixed a red-rimmed, puffy, saline filled look at Jamie's stunned face. "… Then why do I want to die?" He paused in his speech, sucking in a much needed breath and exhaling it with short gasps of air. "Why do I want to leave them, even though I love them? Why do I want to be gone forever, far away, rotting in hell for all I know, and stare up at them from my own pit of flames? Why do I think that would be better than what's happening to me now? Why do I think that it would be less torture that way?" Jack looked back down at his knees and rubbed his eyes without reason, still crying. He whispered, "Will someone help me if I ask them too, you think…?"

Jamie realized he was finally talking to him and cleared his throat, looking down at his collapsed and broken friend. "Help you with what, Jack?" He whispered back.

Jack looked up again, his eyes tired and hollow, eyelids sagging from the weight of his saltwater and heart, his arms looking fractured and sprawled against his sides and the tile, his legs still tucked underneath him and feeling gone, his body's bones seemingly shattered together and fallen to the point where he didn't think he'd ever be able to move again, not that he could consider a good reason why he would ever want to. "To help me die, silly…" He said with a cracked and swollen smile that spread thin over his teeth.

Jamie's own tears finally spilled over and he bent down onto his knees and grabbed Jack to him gently.

"Jamie…" Jack whispered.

"Yes, Jack?" He replied, hugging the abused teen closer to him.

"Is… Do you think…" Jack trailed off.

"What is it?" His voice was gentle, filled with emotion, and love, and it pushed Jack to ask his question.

"Is God real?"

Jamie hesitated, thinking of the best way to answer his question. "I don't know, Jack. I'm sorry. But I do know, if there is someone up there, He's looking out for you and He's gonna get you through whatever it is that's been happening…" He felt his own tears fall onto his arm that clasped Jack's back; he watched it slide down his friend's swollen skin.

"Do you think that if I prayed hard enough, that maybe… Maybe he'd let me go in my sleep?" Jack breathed earnestly, with a hint of hope.

Jamie didn't answer. He hugged Jack tighter and started shaking, sniffling, coughing, and eventually crying loud and burying his face in Jack's purple shoulder. He could hear the dead smile in Jack's voice when he spoke and patted Jamie on the back, massaging it in slow and reassuring circles.

"Hey, hey now… Don't cry, Jamie. You're gonna be okay. I'll help you through this."

The younger sniffed harder and grabbed Jack tighter, breathing a bitter laugh. "I think," sniff, "I'm the one that's supposed to say that."

"You might be right, there kid."

There was a short silence before Jamie spoke back up.

"Don't ever leave me… I need you… You're worth something. You are… You're worth more than you'll ever know and not just to me… I-I… I love you, Jack…" Jamie stuttered, still bawling. "I love you so much." His voice broke, and Jack could feel more hot tears on his shoulder.

"I know, Jamie, I know." Jack gripped the back of Jamie's head, leaning forward to accommodate his arm, and with the other he hugged the brown-haired boy tighter. He lifted his head and look at himself in that full-length mirror that hung from the door. The mirror that showed him how he was really seen by people. The mirror that showed him that at least one person actually cared about him. The mirror that showed him his own feelings. It didn't just reflect his body, but his hurting heart. As he looked himself in the eye now, minutes later, he looked the same, but somehow different.

He looked like he finally knew why he was really here.

It didn't take long before Jack was ready for yet another day of college. He'd ushered Jamie, so the younger could also get himself ready, out of the bathroom, once they'd both collected themselves, and gone to shower, dressing in his black zip-up sweatshirt, light grey cotton shirt, white skinny jeans, and grey converse. The hoodie definitely wasn't warm enough for the morning's chilly air, but he never minded the cold, so why start now? The finishing touch was his light blue backpack he slung over one shoulder.

As he exited the bathroom he could feel Jamie's eyes on him, and saw them quickly dart away when he looked over, nothing but a light blush left behind. Jack ignored it as best he could, trying not to think about everything that had happened, but for some reason, he felt unburdened. He felt, dare he think it, _happy._

Was that what it felt like? To feel happy? Jack had always wondered about that. It was a hard thing to remember for him nowadays, unless he was with his sister, or Pitch…

He glanced at Jamie again, feeling guilty about thinking of someone else when he knew how the kid felt about him now, but why would he? Pitch was only a friend. Sure he was attractive, but… No, he didn't have time to think about that. He was going to be late.

"Well, I guess I better get going, man." Jack said to Jamie.

"But, but…" He visibly scrambled for a reason for Jack to stay.

"Relax dude. We have the same class today anyway."

"Oh right!" He smiled brightly with twinkling eyes.

Jack forced a smile back, wishing for the other's sake he could find a way to love him, but he just couldn't. It wasn't what he wanted. He knew Jamie would always be there for him, and he was grateful for that, but there wouldn't be anything more or less than a friendship. Jack just had to figure out how to tell him that…

Later.

"I'll head out then." Jack said with a movement towards the door.

"Wait! I can give you a ride!" Jamie called out to him.

"You have your license?" He asked incredulously.

"Well, yeah, I'm almost seventeen."

"Can you drive people?"

Jamie paused and fidgeted. "Y-yes."

"No you can't. I'll see you there." He opened the door and walked out saying, "You better work on that lying of yours," without looking back, much to Jamie's dismay.

He was about halfway down the road when he heard a car pull up to him. Jamie's car. The brown-haired teen rolled down his window.

"Are you sure you don't want a ride?"

"Positive."

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Dude, you just did." Jack rolled his eyes.

"W-well…" Jamie looked down and fidgeted with his hands on the wheel. "Are we a couple?"

Jack held his breath so long he looked paler than normal, causing Jamie to look hurt when he shyly glanced back up. Jack let out the breath.

"Look, kid-," He started.

"I'm not a kid! I'm barely younger than you!" Jamie pouted, crossing his arms.

Jack had to resist the urge to snicker at how childish he was being. He took another deep breath.

"Okay, look, Jamie. I'm not, I mean… I can't really handle that right now, okay?" He saw Jamie start to protest and cut him off. "It's not just what's been happening with my dad and mom, and at a later time, I'll explain that to you more, because yeah, you're a good friend, and I'm glad you were there for me today and when we were kids, but that's just it. We're _friends_. I'm really sorry, Jamie, but no, we're not dating, and I wish I could-."

"But we can! You can! It's so easy! You just have to say you want to!" Jamie was now leaning out of the window, explaining with his hands and Jack could see the small tears starting to form.

"No, we can't. It wouldn't be fair to you," Jack looked away.

"Shouldn't that be my decision to make!?" Jack snapped his eyes back to meet Jamie's. "Shouldn't I be allowed to decide that I want to be with you, even if you don't think it'd be fair to me? You're not being fair now, so why wouldn't that be allowed later? Think about it, Jack! I love you!" The small tears grew and spilled over lightly. "Don't you love me too?"

"I… I'm sorry, kid… I don't."

Jamie's face became blotchy and he rubbed hard at his eyes. "Fine, right. What was I supposed to expect?" His voice broke into a whine. "We barely talk anyway. This makes perfect sense. I'll see you in Anthro." He took the car out of park. "And Jack?"

The ashamed looked back at Jamie and willed himself to speak without shaking. "Yeah?"

"I'm still not a kid."

The last thing Jack heard was Jamie's car gunning down the street and the faint, far-away cries of heart breaking through a still rolled down window.

Jack was panting as he ran down the school's long and curvy driveway. His legs ached, but less than he thought they would, after the run he'd already had that morning. He just wanted to keep running and to never stop like he'd had to before. He didn't want to face Jamie, Megan, Katherine, John, or even Pitch. He just wanted to be alone for once.

To be free.

The squeal of car brakes behind him halted his running, and he felt sick, because the first thought he had when the rubber-on-pavement noise blasted out, was that he wanted to feel a hood of someone's car break into the back of his lower legs. He wanted to feel the full force of a windshield shatter him open. He wanted to feel the flight through the air that would land him hard against the ground. He wanted that, and now more than ever, he didn't know why.

The talk with Jamie that morning, he thought he'd been better, he thought he was finally going to be okay.

_Like it could be that easy_.

Jack turned around and saw a nice, expensive, sleek black sports car about twenty yards away from him.

It wasn't even close.

The letdown he felt for that brief instant was quickly erased by a smile that could win "Best Male Actor" as he recognized the car, waving, and the man that was driving it that honked his horn and motioned for him to come over rudely.

_I'll just have to teach him some manners later._

That thought became more important to him as Pitch basically took off down the road before he was even in the car.

"In a hurry, are we?" Jack asked with a wicked smirk.

Pitch huffed annoyed back at him. "Be quiet, Frosty. I slept past my alarm due to _someone_ keeping me up last night."

_Like you minded it at all._

"At least I didn't try to run you over."

Pitch totally ignored his comment, switching back to what he'd said last. "You slept through yours as well, I take it?"

Jack's grin slipped away and he remembered the morning.

_Too much fondling. Too much crying. Too much pain._

He only replied, "Yeah," in the most convincing way he could do at the moment and tried to push those thoughts out of his mind. He was safe for the moment, on his way to a college filled with other people that could help him if John came barging into it looking for him; if Jamie tried to cause a scene after what had happened that morning.

"If the professor asks, I blame you for being late." Pitch said a little bit too casually and Jack knew that he wasn't hiding anything as much as he wanted to.

Jack brought back his grin in an attempt to make sure Pitch didn't try to figure out what was wrong. "Hey hey now, you could've not replied and been your usual rude and cynical self."

"You know how I usually am, do you?" Pitch smirked, turning the wheel again.

"I can only assume."

Jack noticed the college coming into view. Once they parked he started to hop out, but began laughing as Pitch said, "You are right, though," and kept going.

He checked his phone. Eight 'O clock. He showed it to Pitch.

The next thing he knew they were running down the hallways, Pitch following close behind even though it was obvious he was much faster than Jack.

_Maybe he does have good manners, or, more like etiquette._

Once at the door, Jack adjusted his hoodie and rifled a hand through his hair. He glanced at Pitch to see if he was doing the same but apparently Mr. Perfect never needed to fix a thing about himself. He also seemed to find it amusing when Jack looked frustrated with him. Who knew.

Jack opened the door with what appeared to be not one fuck.

The teacher rapped on his desk and looked down his glasses at them both. "And where have you been, Mr. Frost and Mr. Pitchiner?" He sounded pissed.

"We overslept, Mr. Bunny." Jack flashed a smile toothier than Marshall Lee's. He should know.

"If you're gonna address me proper, mate, use the full name. It's Mr. Bunnymund." Bunny sank his eyebrows into an angry glare, either over the sleepover he was implying or the fact neither of his students seemed to care about their tardiness, Jack wasn't sure.

But he was damn well gonna laugh at Bunny. "But how can I do that when your nose always twitches? I mean, come on, act less like a bunny and I won't call you that."

The teacher's nose twitched and this time Jack knew he should probably not burst out laughing.

"See me after class you little ankle-biter."

He feigned heartache and clutched a hand to his chest. "I'm hurt." He headed to his seat after his fantastic performance with Pitch behind him.

He could see Jamie sitting off to the side, staring at him with absolute despair, but he wouldn't glance at him. Jack couldn't. Not only did he already know what him walking in with Pitch seemed like, the whole "we" comment was sure to kill Jamie, even if Jack had been with the kid that morning. The fact that Jack spent any time with Pitch would be like a slap across the face.

_Oh yeah, Jamie, hey, I don't love you, probs never could, but there's this gorgeous British guy who looks a bit German and I swear if I ever got him in the sack he would totally be wearing a uniform first, cause woo, I can't resist a man in uniform, but don't you go and do that, that'd be silly. And not only that, this guy's an adult! I like spending time with him, and he can actually drive me places!_

Maybe they hadn't been close the past few years, but Jack had a terrible feeling that's what Jamie was imaging the one he looked up to telling him while turning him around to grab the knife Jack stuck in there.

_This is gonna be a long day._

Jack sat and forgot about Pitch for a second until he pulled out the chair next to him and took a seat.

Bunny still stared up at them from the front of the room, but went back to his lecture once he saw the both of them pull out notebooks and pencils.

"As you can see here from slide B, the indigenous people of Australia were the first to create, what we call today, the boomerang," their teacher taught.

He noticed out of the corner of his eye Pitch blanking out, pretty much lost in thought from what he could tell.

Jack honestly didn't want to do the same thing to himself. Thinking about the morning he'd had and the rest of his life that'd gone wrong just didn't seem to be the best option for him right then. He decided instead to pay attention to his class, and by that of course, make subtle faces at Bunnymund until he either got angry or started laughing. Both would be terrific outcomes.

Sadly Bunny didn't notice him, but he did notice Pitch, who was practically gawking at the professor.

Jack kicked him under the table harder than he actually needed to, though he wasn't sure why, and Pitch looked over at him and then back at Bunnymund, who in turn cleared his throat in a typical teacher-ly, "Ahem."

"If you wouldn't mind, Mr. Pitchiner. I know it's your first day, but how about ya don't stare quite so much? Keep it in your pants, mate."

To Jack's amazement, Pitch stood and bowed, freaking _bowed_, at Bunny and calmly started speaking. "Excuse me, sir, but I'm afraid you're mistaken. I was merely getting my bearings and admiring the classroom. If my eyes stopped on you I do apologize, but it was an accident, though if I may be so bold, it doesn't have to be one." Pitch winked at the end and the class erupted into laughing and giggling fits.

Jack sat with his jaw open looking between the two of them. If he wasn't wrong, he thought he saw a blush on the teacher's face.

Bunny looked furious and immediately rapped on his desk like when Pitch and Jack had walked in earlier. "Quiet down," he addressed to the rest of the group, and they listened. He turned his attention back to the new student. "Mr. Pitchiner, one more comment like that and you can get off at the sight of my outside my classroom."

Pitch didn't even hesitate. "Is that a promise?" The rest of the students started to laugh again but quickly tried to stop themselves and calm down again without a loud yell from the teacher.

Bunny opened his mouth to say something but Pitch was faster. "Yes sir, I understand. It was a joke. I apologize yet again. Sometimes I just can't resist."

The professor took the apology and nodded, flashing Jack a small look that no one else noticed.

Jack shut his jaw.

Pitch sat down.

"Don't let it happen again, mate."

"I won't."

Jack started to smile despite himself. There'd never been any other students that would dare try to challenge Bunny. This was insane. He really must have a friend in this guy. Pitch beamed small-ly over at him, and Jack could feel the Brit's eyes rake over him causing an undetectable shiver as the teacher did his job without any disturbances..

It wasn't long before Jack felt bored, and maybe a little awkward, with not saying anything to Pitch, even if they were in the middle of class.

He passed a note to the older as obviously as he could, and watched as the bridge of his friend's nose crinkled in slight annoyance out of the corner of his eye.

_Way to get the teach to hate you on the first day._

Pitch quickly scrawled a sentence back with neat and half-cursive writing.

_What else was I supposed to do? Get him to like me?_

_That would've been the best option, yes._

_I never was one for taking the quick road. I prefer the scenic route._

_The scenic route's gonna get you kicked out._

_But at least it will take me out in style._

Jack choked back a laugh, ignoring Bunny's pause in teaching, and wrote back. It was just too funny seeing Pitch trying to be cool.

_Now you're trying to use my generation's lingo? Come on, Kozzy._

_I'll have you know I'm only twenty-one, and the more nicknames you make for me the more I make for you._

Jack rolled his eyes at Pitch for actually getting defensive about his age, so he just ignored him altogether.

_Perfect. You can buy me booze then._

He could see Pitch frown for a split second before he grinned way too creepishly for Jack's liking… Or maybe he did like it… Wait, what was he thinking now? _Dammit_.

_And what will you give me in return?_

Jack knew what he wanted to say as soon as he saw the reply. Now it was his turn to be 'quick witted.'

_My virginity._

He saw Pitch fumble slightly and drop his pencil. He leaned down to grab it and Jack couldn't help sneaking a glance at that little strip of light grey skin that shown from under Pitch's button-up. The taller sat up and coughed before finally writing back.

_A strapping young man like yourself hasn't lost their virginity yet? Well well, that's not as much as a surprise as I expected it to be._

Jack snickered inwardly. _So I guess Pitch can recover._

_Oh shut up, Kozzy. Of course I have. Learn to take a joke._

_Perhaps it's you that should._

Pitch chuckled to himself and for the life of him Jack wanted to punch that pretty little smile off of that perfect skin… Okay. He needed to stop himself. _Damn teenage hormones_.

_What, so you're saying you've lost yours?_

Jack could see Pitch's hesitation and grabbed back the note before he could reply.

_Thinking of a lie, were you Look at that. Tall, dark, and handsome still has his V-card._

_You think I'm handsome, do you?_

As much as he didn't want to, Jack knew he blushed.

_You know what I mean._

_Oh, but, I don't think I do. Why don't you explain it to me._

Jack stared at the sloping letters and wondered how just words could contain so much annoying meaning. He crumpled it all up and shoved it in his pocket, trying his best to yet again not punch a smile off of Pitch's face.

It was only a few minutes before class ended, and they walked out together, back to the happy friends they were before. If you could call them happy, or friends, anyway.

They headed down the hall and were on their way back to Pitch's car, or so Jack assumed, when he heard Bunny calling out to him. They both turned around at the same time.

"I thought I told you to see me after class, Mr. Frost?" Bunny must've been angry because he actually yelled, scaring all the last students out of the hall.

"Oh jeez, sorry Mr. Bunny." Jack looked at Pitch. "Wait here, I'll be right back." He thought to suppress the next thought that popped into his mind, but he just couldn't. He brushed past Pitch and felt his own pace quicken at the intended contact. _Well, that wasn't supposed to happen._

Pitch replied with a slight breathy stammer. "A-alright." Jack had to admit that was the best sound he'd ever heard. He turned around on his way over to Bunny and smiled devilishly, silently telling Pitch that it wasn't an accident he'd rubbed up against him.

Jack kept going with another turn and entered the classroom with the feel of Pitch's side still on his mind. That wasn't good at all.

Bunny shut the door behind them loudly, and Jack was about to look to see why when he felt hot breath on the back of his neck. He sprang away as fast as he could.

"Uh, Bunny? What do you need? I'm pretty sure in college they don't give detentions." Jack gave a wide-eyed fake smirk at his teacher.

Bunny ignored him and started pacing, getting closer to his student at every step back and forth. "You know what bunnies do almost more than any other animal?" He breathed out.

It wasn't a particularly nice sound to Jack's ears especially not after hearing Pitch moments before, and now his teacher was uncomfortably close to him. Maybe a month ago he wouldn't have been so afraid, but it was now. He didn't want to live that lifestyle he used to, or at least not the sexual encounters part. He'd learned his lesson from Jamie, and even though his past partners had hurt him he'd never realized the pain he could put on other people.

He slowly backed away from the ever inclosing Bunny. "U-uh, what's that, Mr. Bunnymund?"

Bunny's nose twitched in appreciation at the full name and a leer creeped up on his face as he leaned in closer to Jack. "Procreate."

He was in big trouble.

"Pi-!" Jack tried to cry out but a calloused and partially tattooed hand clamped over his mouth, keeping him silent.

"Uh oh, wouldn't want that little boy toy of yours to overhear, now would we mate? He might spoil the fun." Bunny grinned.

Jack bit down. Hard.

The professor pulled his hand back with a shake as his student tried to run for the door.

"Not now! I've waited long enough for this!" Jack felt Bunny's weight on top of him from behind and they crashed to the floor.

"N-no! Stop it! Please! I won't be rude to you or act out ever again, I promise, Mr. Bunnymund!" Jack pleaded as the lust-crazed teacher ripped down Jack's jeans and hefted him up over the desk. He roughly pulled the younger around to face him and kissed him forcefully.

Jack couldn't cower back any further and went dead still. Bunny's kisses were all teeth and jaw and Jack just wanted to get away from him.

Bunny held Jack with one arm and undid his own belt with the other, throwing it over his shoulder when he was finished. He pulled up his student's shirt and dove underneath it, violently biting a nipple and the suckling on another before pulling back out and flipping Jack over again.

"I've waited too long for this!" He stated and unzipped his pants, pulling down both his boxers and Jack's, springing free his leaking erection and Jack's soft cock.

"Wait, Mr. Bunnymund! Stop. Think about what you're doing!" Jack pleaded, gripping at the desk in an attempt to crawl over it.

"I'm gonna make you say my name like that every time, Mr. Frost." Bunny whispered before he lined himself up and thrust into Jack dry.

Jack started to scream and Bunny covered his mouth again. "Keep doing that and I'll get the word out about how you get off with everyone you see! Especially that Pitch boy!"

The professor started to thrust erratically with no rhythm, hurting Jack even more than it would have.

"I don't…" Jack exhaled with a held-in screech. "I'm not like that anymore… You have to believe me…!"

Bunny grunted picking up his pace and finally settling into a pattern. He didn't respond, only going in harder, not caring about even pleasuring Jack as long as he got what he wanted.

Jack could feel it inside him. It pounded against his prostate again, and again, and again. All he wanted was for it to stop. He didn't want it from this person above him. He didn't want it from his father. He didn't want it from Jamie.

"G-get… Get off… Get off of me!"

And suddenly, he was.

Jack no longer felt that horrible slick feeling of being taken over between his legs. He stood up from his bent over position, feeling a sharp pain in his lower back, but quickly pulled up his boxers and jeans to get his bearings on what happened.

He looked over to his left and saw Pitch about ten yards away straddling Mr. Bunnymund and uses his fists to cut into the teacher's face.

Jack stood, stunned, unsure of what to do. He just stared at his friend, watching him punch with all of his force. Never stopping. Hitting harder, if that was possible, with every pound. Jack heard a crack and snapped out of his daze. There was blood.

Too much blood.

It pooled out of Bunnymund's face and spread across the collar of his shirt and the floor underneath his head. His nose looked broken.

Jack walked quietly over to Pitch, and put his hand out to grip the charcoal shirt. Now that he could see Pitch's eyes, he could tell how far gone he was. He gripped tighter, and the confused student finally noticed him.

He looked back with tears in his eyes and protection that quickly turned to hurt and shock.

"Pitch… That's enough," Jack whispered, silently begging he didn't have to keep seeing either of the faces that were in front of him. They were both too crushed to look at.

Pitch looked at his left hand, and Jack saw the skin had ripped on his knuckles. He jumped off of the teacher and backed slowly, tripping just barely enough for Jack to notice. Jack looked between his friend and the practically passed out teacher that lay on the floor.

It had happened again. First his father forced himself on him, then Jamie tried to, though Jack knew that Jamie would never have pushed him to the point where he didn't want it, and now his teacher, someone he actually trusted and didn't mind being around. They had fun banter, and it perked Jack's day up. Why did everyone he let into his life always hurt him in the end? Either physically, or emotionally, or both? Was it his fault? Was he doing something wrong? Jack thought that had to be it. He was the one that wasn't right. He shouldn't have tried to fight back against any of them. If he didn't deserve it, then why would they keep trying it?

He felt empty inside, but soon realized he needed to say at least one thing to Pitch to explain what happened. "He was… He tried to… I couldn't get him off of me… And then…" He heard himself sniffle but it didn't really feel like him; it didn't feel like he was really there anymore. Whether that meant an out of body experience or he was finally numb from his life, Jack wasn't sure.

Pitch seemed to get his grip on reality back and went over to Jack, hugging him tightly but gently, and shushing. He pet Jack's head with the hand that wasn't hurt and Jack automatically grabbed onto the taller's shirt, using the feel of the fabric to ground himself. He heard Pitch start to speak softly.

"It's gonna be alright. It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. It was that sick fucker. It was his fault. You're safe now. You're gonna be fine."

Jack squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to believe him; wanting with everything that he knew was himself that Pitch was right. That there was nothing wrong with fighting back; that it wasn't his fault; that he was finally safe; that he was finally going to be fine. He wanted to believe that, and even if it was lie, for the moment, he chose to. He had to.

It was the only way he could stay sane.

Pitch continued to stroke his hair until Jack heard the sound of someone sitting up clumsily behind him and felt Pitch remove himself from the hug and turn Jack to push him partially behind him.

He looked out from behind Pitch's shoulder and looked up at his friend's ferocious gaze. A gaze that made him think that Pitch really did care about him.

That thought was clarified for him when he heard Pitch's voice, angry and low, spitting.

"You think it's okay to touch your students without consent, do you? I wonder how the Dean will react to hearing this. He'll take away your teaching license and you'll be on the street before you can say, 'God save the Queen,' you can be assured of that."

Bunny stared at the ground, mumbling. "I didn't… No… I didn't…"

"Didn't what?" Pitch sounded even more disgusted.

"I didn't think he would find it so bad…"

Jack felt his heart lurch.

_So that's what they think about me._

Pitch turned his head towards Jack, his eyes never leaving Bunnymund. "I would like you to leave the room now."

"But Pitch-," Jack wanted to cry out frustrated-ly. He needed to hear what else was wrong with him; he wanted to know why these people kept doing this to him.

"Now."

Jack turned and walked out, shutting the door behind him. He stood there for a second before he couldn't take it and opened the door a crack to look in. He heard Pitch talking to Bunnymund and saw him creep closer to the teacher. The thing on the floor shuffled backwards on his elbows, slipping across the tiled floor.

Pitch stepped on the professor's fingers, and Jack could hear him cry out. Even louder after Pitch spoke again, there wasn't an immediate response, and for a second time there was a step down.

He could see Bunnymund begging.

He could hear Pitch, he could hear their whole conversation and what had already been said, but he wasn't listening. He started once Bunny started crying.

"I like him, okay? I like him. He's outgoing and maybe a little bratty, but he's witty like me. I thought that if I could just convince him- If I could just start it he'd like it. I didn't think he would… He would…"

Pitch pressed down again.

"He wouldn't want it! Okay!?" He gets around! Everyone knows that! If I had real feelings for him I didn't think he would mind!"

To Jack's horror, Pitch removed his boot and Bunny grabbed his hand close to him.

_Oh… So Pitch agrees…_

Jack was about to turn away when he saw Pitch lift his right, long leg up and back, and thrust it forward, right into Bunnymund's chest. He fell back hard onto his head and gripped the back of it.

"You disgust me," was all Pitch said before he turned to walk out. Jack went behind the door more so he wouldn't be seen and continued to listen.

"I won't tell the Dean, mainly because Jack and I both need this credit, but if you so much as look at the boy, or breath his same air, I won't be going to the Dean for help anyway. I won't need it. I will break you." Jack exhaled the breath he didn't know he'd been holding and back away further as Pitch opened the door and called over his shoulder with a smile, "See you next Monday, professor," before slamming it shut behind him.

Jack ran the few steps between them and hugged him tightly. He didn't know what came over him, but he thought Pitch should know he was listening in.

"I heard you in there." Jack buried his face into Pitch's shirt and didn't care if Pitch could hear him or not. Pitch hugged him back almost immediately.

"I don't think eavesdropping is a very polite thing to do, Jackson." His friend whispered back.

Jack lifted his head, a smile starting on his face. Even though he knew it must've been red from the crying earlier, he didn't want Pitch to think something was wrong. "How many times do I have to tell you to call me Jack?"

"Right, I apologize, Frosty." Pitch smiled kindly down at Jack, and it made the younger feel queasy to see. He didn't know how long he could keep up his act.

He removed his arms to smack Pitch on the shoulder but quickly realized his mistake and flew back into the hug.

Pitch laughed as Jack buried his face again.

"What's so funny this time?" Jack mumbled.

"You."

"That's not very nice, Kozzy." Jack breathed a genuine, small laugh.

"When have you ever known me to be nice? If I remember correctly, earlier you said I was cynical.

Jack pulled his face away but kept close in the hug, turning his head to accommodate it.

"Okay, okay, fine, you're cynical. Happy now?"

"Elated." Jack laughed, and it felt good, even better when he felt the rumble of Pitch's against his own chest.

Pitch bent down and turned Jack so he could whisper in his ear. "You heard what I said to him, right? We can tell the authorities if you wish. That doesn't bother me one bit to do so."

Jack pulled back fully. "No no, don't. I'll be okay." His new sense of laughter and feeling good quickly gone, he still smiled fake-ly, once again assuring Pitch everything was okay, even if it wasn't in the slightest. If they called the cops, and even if the officers didn't give him a physical to see what else was wrong with him, they'd find out about his dad. About his home life. He couldn't have that. He didn't want to be paraded around as the kid that got beat and he didn't want his sister to be taken away from their mom. No matter how horrible she was to Jack, she would always be there for Megan, and so would their dad, though Jack didn't care if those two were separated one bit after what had happened that morning.

He decided to come up with a truthful excuse. "You could get in trouble for what you did, too, and I don't want that to happen when you were just trying to help me out."

Pitch looked a little confused but continued. "If you change your mind, tell me immediately, alright? I'll drive to the police station myself," he paused, "Well, if I can find it, that is." Jack saw him lift his uninjured hand embarrassedly and ruffle his perfect hair.

"I promise I will," and Jack thought that he actually meant it more than he first thought.

"Can I give you a ride home, at least?" Pitch asked, going back to his cool self.

Jack hesitated and tried to keep calm. There was no way Pitch could go by his house when there was a chance John could be home and run out to pull him to the sidewalk for a public beating, plus he needed to get Megan. And then what would he do when he got home with her later? His door didn't even have a lock anymore, and he wasn't sure if she would be safe at the house now.

He figured he'd figure everything out once he got to it. "N-no, I can make it on my own."

"Jack, you're not walking home. Are you really that afraid of me?" Pitch's grin looked evil, and Jack looked around, trying not to meet his friend's eyes. He couldn't explain why, as much as he wanted to, and as much as it shocked him _that_ he wanted to.

"I-it's not that."

"I was kidding." Pitch looked concerned again.

_Shit._

"Do you need to go somewhere else?" He asked with a serious face and slightly worried eyes.

Jack thought for a moment. He couldn't go home. He really didn't want to go to Jamie's to get Megan, not that they'd have anywhere else to go afterwards _except_ home. Megan could always stay there for the night. Her school was on vacation for the week anyway, and Mrs. Bennett and Sophie wouldn't mind her at all. Now the issue was where he would stay.

It didn't take long for him to make the connection.

"Can I just…" Jack finally looked up at Pitch. "Can I just go to your place?"

Pitch wavered ever so slightly, probably something no one else would've noticed had there been anyone in the halls. "That's fine, but, uh, why don't you want to go home? I understand that maybe you want to get cleaned up a bit first if you don't plan on telling your parents but…"

Jack tried to seem as calm as possible; tried to seem like he wasn't facing something horrible when he went home; tried to seem like his normal show. "My knight in shining armor is denying me a carriage ride back to his castle? Come on, be a gentleman." He threw a smile on hastily.

Pitch gave him an odd look that lasted for less than a second before he smiled wider. "If you put it that way, princess." Jack couldn't help the grimace he made, which only caused Pitch to smile even wider, if that was possible, and bowed typically. "Your chariot awaits." Pitch lifted his head and met Jack's eyes with a scary grin.

Jack stepped back as Pitch stood up and took a step closer. "Pitch… What're you doing?"

"Why, I'm helping you to the carriage, my lady." Jack wondered, though the sunlight was shining brightly through the windows of the hall, if it was possible for someone to actually look darker. Apparently Pitch could.

Jack had a feeling he knew what was next.

"Pitch, no, don't you dare. Pitch-," he didn't get to finish his sentence before he felt Pitch put an arm under his legs and sweep him up into a carry, gently.

He held onto Pitch for support without noticing as his knight started to walk.

"Put me down right now!" Jack struggled to get out of the embarrassing situation before the next classes finished.

Pitch bent his head down and whispered close in Jack's ear, "Not a chance."

Jack could feel the breath on his neck and his heart hammered loudly. He hoped he wasn't blushing and thought about his next escape attempt.

_That's it!_

He went limp in Pitch's arms, putting his full weight down.

His friend just laughed loudly and didn't stumble in his pace.

"I have a feeling you'll like my housemate."

"Housemate…?" Jack questioned, confused. Who would ever want to live with this gorgeous guy? _Wait…_

The taller didn't respond and kept on walking. The next rounds of classes were let out and way too many of them were staring, and Jack knew practically everyone that was. He didn't look up at Pitch but just stared at his chest, flushed once again at the thought of everybody seeing them.

He didn't stop until they reached the car.

"So this is your place, huh? Holy shit, if you pardon my French." Jack said as he dropped his bag on the floor of the large apartment.

Pitch chuckled. "Parlez-vous Français?"

Jack gave him a wide-eyed look and then glared. "Parlez-vous fuck you."

"What a nice way to treat your host, Jack." Pitch stared down at him, amused.

Jack rolled his eyes and started to walk around, inspecting everything from the gorgeous hardwood floors, to the deep green and bricked walls, to the leather furniture, and the books and artwork.

"Nosy, aren't you?" Pitch half-bent to pick up Jack's bag and slid his own off of his shoulder smoothly, holding them in the same hand, and putting them on top of the shoe mat.

"If you're asking then doesn't that make you the nosy one?" Jack turned away from rubbing the granite kitchen island with a grin.

"Touche."

Jack again rolled his eyes and went back to his work, ignoring Pitch even as he came over to him and stood behind his shoulder. It became less easy to ignore him when he leaned on his uninjured hand around the side of Jack, clearly forgetting any and all boundaries.

"Don't you want to take a shower, Frosty?" He sounded like glass; thick and clear, with a little bit of the possibility of breaking.

The morning's events flashed through Jack's mind and he stumbled backwards for a second and stepped down back into the living room. "Uh, right, yeah, that'd be nice."

Pitch gave him a questioning look but didn't ask anything related to it. "You can borrow some of my clothes, I suppose. I don't know if they'll fit you or not, you being so short and all." His eyes glinted.

"You mean you being so freakishly tall and all." Jack mimicked the tone his friend had used.

Pitch sighed with a small smile. "Again with the rudeness. One of these times I'm gonna have to see you to the door."

Even though Jack knew it was joke, he panicked. If that did happen, he was screwed. He strained a grin. "Yeah yeah, I understand."

The older didn't comment and walked off to a room at the end of the hall. He came back carrying some clothes and a towel, handing them to Jack. "Here you are. I have two washrooms, you can pick either one."

Pitch showed him to the hall's bathroom and Jack noticed the washer and dryer. "I'll just use this one. Do you mind if I throw in my clothes?"

"Not a problem." Pitch leaned in closer. "I'll be waiting."

Jack turned and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door too hard behind him, and he heard a loud laugh from Pitch. _That bastard._

And then he thought he might've heard a bark, but brushed off that thought. _Like someone like Pitch could ever take care of an animal._

Once he stepped into the shower he realized how much he'd been aching and hurt. His entire torso hurt and the water ran down the drain slightly tinged with blood for the first minutes he was washing. His old bruises were definitely still there along with some new ones, and he didn't want to think about that at the moment. Thinking about John, Jamie, and Bunnymund would make him never leave the bathroom. He collected his thoughts and got out with red, warmed skin. He toweled himself off, his hair after, threw his old clothes in the washer, and slipped on the ones Pitch gave him.

It was only surprisingly comfortable red briefs, matching red socks, and long jeans. Jack rolled up the jeans as best he could and didn't think they looked too bad on him, all things considering. He searched for the shirt, assuming he'd dropped it, but didn't see it anywhere.

_That._

_Bastard._

Jack cracked open the door and peered out, being careful not to show his upper bruised half. Pitch was in a lounge chair back in the living room, from what he could barely see. He was petting something on his lap that jumped when Jack hollered out. "Hey asshole, where's my shirt?"

Pitch stood up, laughing loudly and practically doubling over from it. A little thing yapped and ran towards the bathroom door.

It was a dog.

Jack's eyes widened. _It was a thing that was actually living in this apartment other than Pitch._

His friend stepped up into the hall and walked down it, ignoring Jack's now almost completely covered head as he attempted to keep the dog out of the bathroom, and went into that same room he'd gone into before. Jack assumed it must be the bedroom. He came back out carrying a plain black T-shirt.

"Oh you mean this?" He held it of in front of the door, as if waiting for Jack to try and snatch it. When he didn't, Pitch's grin vanished.

"Are you okay, Jack?" Pitch looked concerned and looked down at the dog. "Is it Sandy? Sorry, he's just excited. I haven't had him for very long and he really hasn't seen any other people yet."

Jack wasn't sure what to say, or do, and while he was mulling it over whether or not he should just say he's scared of the dog to not have to stick his arm out the door, the little dog pushed through. The door smacked Jack in the face and he stumbled backwards but remained standing. Pitch stood outside the door, hand still holding out the shirt like Jack was supposed to grab it. He looked shocked and concerned and hurt and worried all at once. It made Jack feel nauseous.

Pitch took a step forward as Sandy sat excitedly in front of the sink, looking happy at his accomplishment of busting open the door.

"Jack…"

The beaten one looked away.

"You weren't in the classroom long enough to get those bruises… And the majority of them look old…" Jack still wouldn't meet his friend's eyes.

"Look at me."

He hesitated, but listened, and as much as he felt like crying, there weren't tears in his eyes. He thought that was it. He was finally broken. There was nothing left for him to express, or be able to express.

Pitch looked the exact opposite. Like he couldn't express anything more.

"Jack… What's happened to you…"


	8. First Moments, Picture Books, and Haunti

**(And chapter eight is completed! Thank you all, and for the advice of one of the reviewers on the last chapter! I appreciate it. I also am feeling pretty guilty I've never put any author's notes when I post here, so I'm going to start doing that. See you at the bottom~)**

* * *

**Chapter Eight - First Moments, Picture Books, and Haunting Memories**

They'd arrived at his flat. Jack seemed interested and appreciative of the surroundings, but didn't comment, just inspected. Pitch didn't say much, only casually leaning across a counter and then grabbing only _some_ clothes for his friend to take a shower before lounging in a chair with Sandy on his lap. He laughed hard at both the yell he heard from Jack and the reaction Sandy had to it. It seemed all quite amusing, at the time.

Any feeling of laughter had left him now as he stood staring into the bathroom at the upper body of a boy he'd wanted to jokingly see. He didn't expect what lay under the sweatshirts Jack had worn the few times they had been in person together; there was no way he could have known.

_Oh, but you could've. Every broken smile and empty lie you watched him force. You could've_ _known what was happening. You _should've_ known what was happening. If only you just paid attention to someone's problems other than your own._

Pitch ignored the little voice in his head that screamed at him. It might have been right about that but at the moment he was going to help as best he could.

Taking a step towards his friend, he saw the teen flinch and make an involuntary stumble back.

"Jack…"

He wouldn't meet the older's eyes.

"You weren't in the classroom long enough to get those bruises," Pitch trailed and hesitated before continuing. "And the majority of them look old…"

He still wouldn't look at the shocked man, but Pitch needed to see his eyes; he needed to make sure what he was thinking wasn't true. It couldn't be possible something like this was happening to someone he actually cared about. No one was allowed to hurt someone he cared about. Not again.

Pushing the nauseous-ness down, Pitch started speaking.

"Look at me."

He wished he hadn't needed to know.

Jack looked expressionless, hollow, empty, drowning, like there was a void behind his sockets and it stretched further than the both of them. He looked, dare Pitch think it, dead.

There was heavy exhale and he recognized it as his own.

"Jack… What's happened to you…"

It wasn't a question, not really. It may have had answers, but that didn't make either of them wonder. Neither of the two moved, nor did they notice the dog leaving the room to find entertainment elsewhere. The silence stretched on. With no ambition to break the icy wall that had come between them, Pitch didn't speak further, but he wasn't waiting for anything either.

There didn't seem any reason to. What could they say to each other? That they both had pain that the other had only guessed at before? That he cared for someone he'd only met days before? That he wanted to confide in this someone everything that he'd ever experienced and in turn wanted to hear their experiences? That he wanted to be close to this person for as long as he possibly could? That he could be free with this person and, maybe someday, even happy? And for that matter, if Pitch accepted Jack for who he was and what he'd been through, Pitch would have to explain what had happened to him, too. One day, at least.

Now they stood, at a bypass.

Pitch didn't realize he was speaking aloud until he saw Jack snap to attention.

"What… What did you just say?" Jack started quietly.

The truth was, Pitch wasn't sure. "I, I don't know… I didn't realize I was speaking…" He looked down at Jack's socks, _his_ socks, really.

The younger took a step forward, causing Pitch to be the one to flinch this time.

Jack's voice was barely above a whisper. "You said… you said you cared about me… and that… that you wanted to be free and happy with me…" Another step was taken.

It was getting harder to look at the socks without craning his neck.

"Oh… Did I?"

They really were nice ones, cotton, though he remembered they felt almost like silk. He had more pairs like it so maybe he'd just let his friend keep those ones. He seemed to like walking forward in them enough, anyway.

"You did." Jack sounded a bit louder, a bit more confident, and a bit more there.

"…Don't keep me in suspense, then, Frosty…" Pitch whispered at the sock-wearer without even glancing away from the fascinating material.

Jack chuckled low and breathy. "I won't."

The footwear was now close enough to Pitch that he could bend down and touch it if he so wished.

There was a slightly calloused finger against the underside lining of his jaw. No wait, it was two. They felt warm, and softer than he would've expected from their appearance. Maybe even softer than the current object of his affections. Something told him he should get more of the touch; as much as he possibly could, but he was too preoccupied at the moment to listen.

The digits, it felt like three now, moved along the edge and to the base of Pitch's ear before trailing down the side of his neck to the collar on his shirt and back up to the side. He shivered, and thought there might be a draft somewhere in the flat.

Now there was a whole hand, inching up the back of his scalp, spreading his hair between its fingers. It wasn't able to reach very far up, only about halfway, but the heat that radiated from it was felt in every corner of Pitch's body. Another hand now fell on the shoulder opposite where the sensations first started. It gripped him lightly.

He almost wanted to tear his eyes away from the godly matching pair but couldn't.

He heard a sigh tinged with frustration. "What's so interesting, Pitch?

The older finally managed to wrench his pupils away. He smiled small and shyly. "Well, uh… I was thinking maybe you could just have those socks."

"That's too bad." Jack heavily exhaled, looking away in mock apathy but never moving his hands

"W-what?" Pitch sounded almost hurt someone wouldn't like them. They were just so perfect.

"I didn't plan on wearing them for much longer." The teen shrugged as best he could.

"And why would that be?" He was irritated now.

Jack clicked his eyes back to Pitch's and smiled wide, definitely mischievously.

"I was hoping you would knock them off for me."

The obsidian-haired looked abashed. "Oh come on, that's got to be the wor-," as much as he wanted to finish his insult and top it off with a roll of his eyes, he was silenced by a meeting of lips.

A kiss, some might call it.

Pitch's first kiss in his twenty-one years, to be exact, and he was glad he waited as long as he did. Nervousness had always been a key factor. Not knowing for sure what to do if and when the time came. That didn't seem to be an issue now.

It was gentle and soft and warm like his fingers had been. Jack was on his tippy toes, Pitch slightly bent and instinctively holding Jack's upper and lower back. They pulled each other closer, and even when there wasn't any more space between them, they pulled closer still. Pitch made sure to be careful of the more hurt looking parts of the boy he was holding and Jack made sure to be careful of Pitch's injured hand. It might've been more work than they could handle at the moment, but neither of them cared.

Lips moved in unison. Happy humming could be heard. A slight ruffle of a button-up shirt, maybe. Feelings of being wanted hung in the air; feelings of being cared for; feelings of being loved.

Sandy barked from somewhere in the apartment and Pitch pulled back, gasping, at the same time Jack did.

Once he relatively had himself composed, the older breathlessly spoke. "I was basically trying to say you're just awful at pick-up lines."

Jack smirked but was just as needing for air as Pitch. "Because you totally didn't end up falling for it anyway."

"Like I had a choice, you little brat." Pitch smiled warmly.

"I'm rubber; you're glue, so screw you."

Realizing they were still entangled, the two unwove themselves, snickering. Pitch ran a hand through his disheveled hair, attempting not to look at the teen's bruised body. Somehow they'd pushed everything to the backs of their minds.

Somehow.

"I really don't think you have that saying right."

"I really think I do."

They grinned happily at each other before Pitch reached a hand out to Jack's lip.

"Seems you have a slight indent there."

"I bet it's from your damn lip ring."

"Go ahead and deny you didn't like feeling that thin, cold, metal band against your pink mouth." Pitch leaned in closer.

"I will not tell lies."

Pitched grinned even wider and moved back again. "If you wanted to watch Harry Potter, all you had to do was ask."

"Wait, wait, wait. You watch Harry Potter? But you're so… British." Jack raised his eyebrows with an incredulous expression.

"I think you're missing a really big part about the films." The light grey-skinned one laughed.

Jack blushed lightly. "You know what I mean!"

"Now come along." Pitch grasped Jack's hand with his good one.

"What are you doing?" The younger looked shocked.

Pitch looked down at their intertwined fingers. "Is this not an American custom?"

"No, stupid. We never even bandaged your hand. You're lucky it's still not bleeding." Jack let go and crossed his arms angrily.

Pitch resisted the urge to snicker. "You're one to talk, if we're gonna help anyone it's you-," He bit his tongue as his friend's face became downcast and Jack bent down to pick up the shirt Pitch had dropped earlier. Pulling it on over his head, he made careful movements to avoid his more bruised areas.

Pitch left the room quickly, coming back with multiple ice packs. He reached under the sink in the bathroom, grabbing bandages and rubbing alcohol. He held his bloody hand over the sink and poured the antiseptic over it, wincing at the violent sting, and then bandaging the appendage.

He looked over at Jack. "There. Now let's go." He once again gripped Jack's hand in his own, a little bit more forcefully this time, and pulled him towards the living room and the couch with the icepacks in arm. Setting them down on the coffee table, he snatched the remotes and turned on the Teli, ushering Jack to take a seat, and then sitting himself beside his friend.

Pitch lay against the armrest and the back of the couch, motioning for Jack to lie next to him. Reaching over for the icepacks, he brushed more fully against Jack and tried to ignore his thoughts. He placed the ice where he remembered Jack had the most bruises: his stomach, his left side, his right shoulder. He threw his arm around the younger and held the last pack to his friend's forehead, careful not to knock any other packs out of place.

Grinning happily, Jack looked slightly back at his friend. "This is my favorite show."

The older hadn't even noticed what was on yet. He glanced over. It appeared to be some cartoon about adventuring. Pitch looked back at Jack quizzically. "This?"

Before Jack could respond he continued. "Wait, I suppose it should've been expected."

"Oh really? Then what's your favorite cartoon, Mr. Sophisticate." Jack beamed.

Pitch was proud of the big word. "Well, I don't often indulge in such juvenile shows, but if I had to pick, it would have to be…" He trailed off with a bit of ruddiness in his cheeks.

"Hmm?"

"You'll just make fun of it." Pitch huffed.

"Nuh uh." Jack shook his head, causing Pitch to hold the ice more firmly.

"Well, it's," he paused, exhaling. "They only show it over in the UK."

"Mhhm." Jack nodded.

"It's called 'Dude, That's My Ghost.'" Pitch blurted quietly.

Jack laughed. "I can't believe you just said dude, even if it was in a title."

"Shut your mouth." Pitch leaned slightly to get the remote.

"Hey! I was watching that!"

"I believe we discussed Harry Potter."

Pitch flipped over to another input and started the movie.

"It's already in there? Seriously? How often do you watch it?" Jack snickered, causing Pitch to roll his eyes.

"I'm almost positive I told you to stop talking."

"You're a Potterhead. I've found out your secret."

"Why is your jaw open right now?" He sounded annoyed, but the sentence had just spiked his fear for a moment.

Jack chuckled and turned his attention the movie Pitch had already started.

The boy didn't need to know about his secrets, at least, not today.

It didn't feel like long before the movie was over. Pitch was having trouble keeping cool on the matter of the movie. It had been one of his favorites from childhood and he'd be damned if Jack Frost ruined it for him. He was also having trouble not rising to put in the second one.

He glanced over at the living room's book case. He could see his eight-disc collection. He didn't move.

"Oh what, we're not going to watch the second one?" Jack questioned with something creeping into his voice.

_Thank God_. "I'm not that childish, but if you want to watch it, we can."

Pitch started to rise, gently nudging Jack over so he could still lie down. He stood up and padded over to the bookcase just as he heard Sandy start barking angrily. Looking back over at Jack, he tossed the movies on the couch. "I'll be right back."

"'Kay." Jack responded with a nod.

He headed towards the sound and found Sandy growling at the closet where he kept his spare art supplies. Shutting the door to the room behind him, he walked over to the dog and bent down on one knee to pet him gingerly. The thing had surprisingly grown on him quite a lot.

"Now what on earth are you barking at, you stupid dog?"

Pitch looked at the armoire, standing back up. He stepped the short distance over to it and slowly opened it. He fell back on himself as something flew out towards him. Leaning on his elbows, he saw what had startled him, clinging to the ceiling.

It was a butterfly.

The butterfly had purple wings singed with black and dotted with gold. It was one of the most breathtaking things Pitch had ever seen.

He was terrified.

Pitch quickly sat up and stumbled to a standing position. He grabbed Sandy and raced out of the room quietly, trying not to alert Jack as to what he was doing. The door shut behind him, pulled accidentally with his hurt hand. He winced and calmly strolled back into the living room. He set Sandy down on the floor.

"Sorry about that, he-," Pitch blinked as he looked at the couch. Jack wasn't there. Only the melted ice packs lay strewn across it.

"Uh, Jack?" Pitch looked around the fireplace pillar. Not seeing him, he went towards the hall. The bathroom was empty and he knew what was in the storage room. He went on to his own room, placing a palm on the hard door, and pushed it gradually open.

Jack was standing in front of the wall he'd covered in paintings. The boy seemed particularly taken with the golden butterfly. He stared at the signature until he finally pointed at it and then looked over his shoulder at Pitch.

"Did you paint this one?"

Pitch tried to keep his breathing under control. "Yes. I've painted a couple of them, actually."

Jack looked happy, dropped his arm, and kept questioning. "What inspired you to paint this one?"

It was getting harder to not run to the washroom. "I just, uh, like butterflies, I suppose." He shrugged. He knew it wasn't convincing.

"Oh come on." Jack rolled his eyes. "Even I can tell you did this passionately."

Pitch swallowed.

"I really like them."

"I'm not going to believe that for a second, Kozzy."

"You should." Pitch snapped.

Jack raised his hands in submission and stepped back. "Whoa there. I didn't mean to offend you."

Pitch sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's fine, really. It's just not something I talk about." It was getting more difficult by the second to breathe.

"Pitch… Can I ask you another question?" Jack looked back at the painting.

"You asked before without permission so go right ahead"

"Who's Seraphina?"

Pitch felt his heart leap, his pace quicken, and his lungs collapse.

Time stopped for him but kept moving for Jack.

_She was so beautiful. Pitch could never understand how she'd been graced with such beauty when he wasn't. She told him he was beautiful too, and he always wanted to believe her. They'd walk hand in hand to school in the mornings. He would always make sure she checked both ways before crossing the street for the day when she'd make the journey alone. _

"It's just that you fell asleep during the movie and…"

_Their mother and father never paid much attention to them. They were busy with work, but the children always found love and happiness amongst themselves. The maids and butlers would cook for them and clean up after them and tuck them in at night. Pitch could still remember her favorite bedtime story, and once the house-workers, who they now called family, had bid them sweet dreams, she would always beg her big brother to read it again to her. And he complied, every time._

"…you were twitching and I just figured maybe you were…"

"_Are you ready for this one, Sera?"_

"_Yes!" She would snuggle further under her comforter._

"_Alright, then here goes." He began to read the tale._

_ "There once was a little caterpillar from a faraway land._

_ The little caterpillar had lost its family._

_ It wanted nothing more than to search for them, but it was too small to travel very far._

_ When it would rise in the morning, the caterpillar would go as far as it could before it was too tuckered out to continue._

_ It would even travel at night, in hopes of being reunited with the family it held dear._

_ Eventually, all of the journeying took its toll on the caterpillar and it couldn't keep on._

_ The little caterpillar from a faraway land curled up in a ball and wept._

_ It missed them so badly, and now it couldn't even search._

_ When it woke up the next morning, there was a cocoon wrapped around its insect body._

_ It had made it in its sleep._

_ Weeks passed that way, and one day, the caterpillar found it could break out of its casing, and it did just that. _

_ But when it emerged, it saw it was different now._

_ It had wings! Big and purple with gold speckles!_

_ It was now a butterfly!_

_ The butterfly flapped its wings and soared up into the air._

_ It continued its journey for many more moons, now faster._

_ The little caterpillar was no more, and soon it forgot what it was first searching for._

_ The butterfly, when it could remember, thought of its family as caterpillars, but surely a butterfly couldn't have a caterpillar family!_

_ Eventually the beautiful purple butterfly stopped its journey._

_ It decided all the family it ever had was itself, completely forgetting who it used to be._

_ As it pondered this it floated atop a single white flower in the middle of a barren land._

_ The flower looked familiar, and the butterfly peered into it._

_ Inside there was sand. The butterfly was puzzled._

_ It flew down underneath the flower and found a small pool of water surrounded by even more sand._

_ It looked in at its own reflection and saw the caterpillar it used to be, staring back._

_ The caterpillar had always been there. It may have changed on the outside into a butterfly, but it was still the same on the inside._

_ Suddenly the butterfly remembered its past and its family, the happy times they'd had together._

_ It flew off into the sky, knowing exactly where to look this time._

_ The flower it left behind shook in the wind, and atop it sat an equally little caterpillar, staring after the butterfly. _

"_Why do you always insist I read you that one?"_

"_Because! The butterfly is happy!"_

_And for the life of him, the little boy could never tell his darling sister what he thought it meant._

"… having a bad dream or something and then…"

"_Seraphina, don't leave your room, okay?"_

"_But why?" She was always curious._

"_Because I think I heard a noise and I'm gonna go see what it is!"_

"_Why can't I come!?" She would stamp when she didn't get to adventure with him._

"_Because it might be dangerous! Now go back in your room for me, alright?" _

"_Okay, but be careful!"_

_Pitch patted her head gently and closed her door behind him. _

_He tiptoed down the steps, careful to not wake his parents. Thankfully the 'in-house' staff had their own building out back of the main dwelling, so he didn't have to worry about them._

_There were people all through his home! It had to be at least ten of them, and they all had big bags with stuff from his house in them. The boy was old enough to know what it was they were doing. His family was being robbed._

"… you yelled out that name so I…"

_Pitch tried to race back up the stairs to tell his parents but one of the intruders saw him and grabbed him from behind. He felt his nose break on the step and cried out loudly, screaming for his mother and father to hear him._

_He was pulled down the staircase and onto the first floor. They held him down and started speaking and asking him questions. Angry questions. _

"_Where's the safe, boy?"_

"_Tell us where it is!" _

_They grabbed at him and threw him around, trying to make him talk. One man took out a knife, ripping off the lad's shirt, and started to slice into Pitch's abdomen. Three vertical cuts, all in a row._

_He screamed, begged them to let him go. That he didn't know what they were talking about._

_They finally, thankfully, gave up._

"_It's no use. He doesn't know."_

"_And Pitchiner is already taken care of."_

"_I told you we shouldn't of brought along that trigger happy narcissist." _

"_Well it's too bloody late now, isn't it!?"_

"_But wait, didn't they have a daughter?"_

"_Oh right!"_

"_Someone go grab the little bitch, see if she knows anything."_

_The boy tried to break free of the arms that held his own tight behind his back but failed. He couldn't do it. He couldn't do anything more. _

_But he'd be damned if he didn't try to save his sister._

_He kept punching and yelling and kicking._

_They brought her down the steps. She was in her green and purple night gown. Just a little girl. She was only a little girl._

"_Stop it! She doesn't know anything! Please… Please don't hurt her!" He screamed, wrenching forward on the hands that held his arms, hot tears bouncing off of the ornately tiled floor. _

_Seraphina looked around in confusion. "Pitch! Is this a new game?" She smiled brightly in blissful ignorance._

_Pitch felt more tears rush down his face but he managed to force a smile. "Yeah, Sera, it's just a game! They're gonna ask you some questions, so just answer truthfully, alright?"_

_One of the men bent down to her level and started talking. "Do you know where mommy and daddy keep the safe?"_

_She shook her head no. "Not telling!"_

_The boy's eyes widened in shock. "No! She doesn't know what she's saying! She thinks you're not being serious!" He struggled again._

"… was wondering…"

_The men started talking to each other. "There's no way to see for sure if she knows or not."_

"_We better try to get it out of her, just in case."_

_He screeched. "No! Don't do it! Stop it! She doesn't know anything! I swear she doesn't!"_

_The man that had squatted in front of Seraphina stood up and looked over at the boy. He was obviously the leader of the group._

"_I think the boy's right."_

_The brother cried happy tears. "Thank you… Thank you so much…"_

"_But it's too late now. They've seen what we look like, and we already broke in and offed their parents."_

_Pitch held his breath._

"_We might as well kill them, too. We can't have anyone finding out about this."_

_He exhaled and started to kick his captor. "Let me go! Don't you touch her!"_

_Another man held a knife to the girl's throat._

_Pitch finally broke free and ran towards the man._

"… who that…"

"_Please, just take me, don't hurt her. We didn't do anything wrong. Just take me! If you have to take one of us then take me! No, stop it! Let her go! What are you doing to her! Stop! STOP! STOP IT! GET AWAY FROM HER!"_

_Pitch charged at the intruders in a rage-filled attempt to get his sister back to him. He was only eleven years old; his sister was even younger, a mere six years old. He wasn't strong enough to get her back; there was no way he could. But even though deep down he knew he wouldn't be able to, even though he knew his parents were already gone upstairs in their beds and no one would hear their screams, and even though he knew it was already too late to save her, he fought hard. Kicking and screaming with everything he had now that they'd grabbed him again._

"_Big brother, can we play a different game…?" And Pitch stopped trying to get free and made eye contact with his little sister. His darling little sister that he loved unconditionally. Who was more of a daughter to him than a sibling. He made eye contact with her just in time to see one of the intruders cut her throat and drop her to the floor._

"… might…"

_The tears that already stung at his eyes spread and spread until he couldn't see her anymore. Couldn't see her lying on the ground lifeless, a slightly smiling expression in a last attempt to comfort Pitch plastered to her face. _

_Like she knew it wasn't a game all along._

"_Phina…" He whispered, choking back his own vomit. "SERAPHINA!" _

"… be?"

Pitch sprinted to the private washroom and slammed the door behind him. He retched violently into the toilet over and over again. He hadn't even eaten that day, or had dinner the night before. He honestly didn't know how it continued like this, over and over again. It didn't seem possible to him, but he could taste the acid and feel the convulsions.

After panting and sweating for what seemed like forever, there was a timid knock on the door.

Pitch opened his eyes and looked. He hadn't vomited at all.

Wobbly on his feet as he was, Pitch managed to stand by grasping onto the sink and walls in an attempt to get to the door. He opened it and hobbled over to his bed, collapsing on top of the blankets and not moving.

He heard light footsteps and felt a warmth next to him on the bed but he didn't open his eyes from the tight closure they were in. His hands instinctively went up to grip the sides of his head and he curled into a ball. He knew he was crying.

Soft arms pulled Pitch backwards and he soon felt a chest behind him and a chin on his head.

There was an even lighter patter of steps before the bed shook a little and something small and furry was huddle up in front of him, trying to get closer.

The person that was holding him somehow got the covers over all three of them. Whispers filled the air underneath.

"Pitch…"

He managed a reply through gritted teeth. "Yes, Jack?"

"I have this wonderful feeling there's a reason we came to be friends."

Pitch exhaled. "Me too, Jack, me too."

The older, yet just as abused, man felt a grin on the back of his neck as Jack moved down to kiss it.

He thought to himself that Jack never seemed to mind when Pitch saw him smile.

* * *

**(This is definitely not how I was going to go with this chapter, and I would like you all to be happy with what ended up happening because what I had in mind was so, so awful. Though it might happen in later chapter. And woo! Finally have some black ice coming in here! Gotta love that! Did anyone notice the symmetry from the beginning of chapter one and then from the pond scene in chapter two? Anyone? No? Just me? I'm fine with that… ; u ;  
If you would like story updates and more black ice, here's the name of my Tumblr accounts:**

**iciestblack (my main blog)**

** personaliciestblack (where I post more story updates, life updates, and my art)**

**I also have a stereomood account where I generally go when I write to make playlists. It's under the same username as my FF account and AO3 AND Tumblr. Look at that. I'm original. Thank you all for continued support and I hope you liked this new chapter!)**


	9. The Newest Discovery

**I am so sorry. I didn't realize how long it's been at all. Time just flew by. I think it was because I tried to set a deadline. Anyway, I have a proposition for you good sports!****  
****Here it is!****  
****I need an editor, frankly I don't have time to be doing this at all, so when I do get the time for the actual chapter editing is a last priority. I've already made note of this on Tumblr to people, and have received some offers, one of which I'm heavily leaning to, but I'm thinking two editors besides myself would be a good idea.****  
****So if you are interested, drop a comment, or message me on Tumblr! ( .com or .com)****  
****See you at the bottom~**

* * *

**Chapter Nine - The Newest Discovery**

Jack held his friend close to his body. He didn't ever want to let go.

A genuine feeling of happiness flooded through him when he realized how Pitch felt. He hadn't expected anything of the sort to really happen between them; he'd never gathered he fully wanted this, but now he saw that it was all he ever wanted.

Pitch knew at least some of what was happening to Jack and didn't reject him.

The little voice in the back of Jack's head tried to whisper that that was what Jamie had done, but he pushed it away. There was something different about Pitch, though he couldn't place a specific finger on what it was.

Jack still felt a full feeling in his chest that he hadn't felt for years.

At first he almost didn't recognize it. Now all he wanted was for it to never leave him again. Not for it to be forced away by anyone this time.

He wished Pitch would chase away all of his demons, and Jack had a feeling the older actually might if given the chance.

But right then, all he really knew was that he needed to do that for Pitch.

* * *

_Right now._

_I need to get out of here right now._

Jack's thoughts screamed at him but he couldn't move his legs. He couldn't have yet another person knowing his secret, could he?

It was worse this time than it had been at Jamie's. He didn't need this awareness of being broken anymore. He couldn't keep taking it no matter how true it was.

Jack remembered his view of God and death suddenly.

Perhaps that really was his only option.

He stared into the stunned person's eyes that floated in front of him.

Everything else was dark around those honey and steel irises.

Pitch was speaking to him, but Jack could only faintly hear it. He was sinking into a dark wave with only those pupils shining through. He felt his heart constrain, his throat ache, his lungs suck in the water.

He was drowning in darkness and saltwater and he didn't think there would be way to rise to the surface this time.

No, he was sure there wasn't a way.

Dread, depression, hurt, humility, guilt, shame, and exhaustion crashed down on him all at once.

It wasn't worth it to try to wade through this time.

He let it pull him down, further and further, until the next step for him would and only _could_ be letting it take him over completely.

The words continued to be muffled by his train of wrecked thoughts. It wasn't until he heard Pitch at last start to slow down and mumble nearly incoherently that Jack finally listened to him.

"You're not okay… Are you? I wonder if anyone else knows… I doubt you've even told anyone yourself… Ah, I think I understand quite a few things now… Avoiding the police, your falsities, and those hollow expressions you always seem to make…"

Jack flinched. No one had ever been able to see through his act before, not even when he wanted them to; not even when it was one of those days where he didn't think he could bare it any longer.

"Will you ever tell me who did this to you? … Will you ever be able to? …If you're not apt to as of yet I understand that as well… This just isn't right, though. I apologize. You went through so much trouble to hide it, it's obvious, but why…? Has someone made you that afraid? No matter what you think you are going to face, or what the consequences will be after getting help, it will be of benefit. Because yes there will be hardships afterwards, but it is not okay to just keep it to yourself. Something like this can't go on. Children should never be harmed no matter what they may have done. Someone needs to know about this; someone needs to help you."

Pitch took a shaky breath, his vision still cloudy.

"Even if that someone is only me… I know I'm not the best person, and I know I have my own issues and past to deal with, but I keep thinking that maybe it's you that I need… That if I can save you, maybe I'll be redeemed in that Man's eyes… Maybe that's why all this has happened. You being my guide, the chance encounter this morning, the rides, that disgusting teacher… I think that we were meant to be there for each other… Or am I just being absurd right now?"

A slight shine appeared in his gaze.

"I guess it is a little silly to think that we met only a few days ago and yet I'm expecting to spend as much time as I possibly can with you. I don't think I've ever felt this way before… I think I might actually… Care about you, and admitting that doesn't feel wrong to me."

He paused slightly before starting back up his slow mumbling.

"You need to know that what's happening to you is wrong and there's no other way to explain it other than that. None of it is your fault. I don't know who's abusing you, or what the situation really is, but I can say that it's not right. Never feel helpless, because from now on, I'm going to be with you for as long as I can."

Jack stared directly into the man in front of him's eyes. He hadn't heard right.

He couldn't of heard right.

No.

He was a selfish little brat, deserved what beatings he got, it was all his fault, it would always be his fault.

But this person had confirmed his little doubts.

Is this what other people would say?

Would they really accept him that easily?

…Was it really okay?

Jack had to make sure.

"What… what did you just say?"

"I, I don't know… I didn't realize I was speaking…" Pitch looked down, seemingly interested in something that probably wasn't too important.

Jack stepped forward.

If he didn't know he was talking then maybe his friend's words had come from the heart and not the head… Was that possible?

The teen whispered as he went on with his walking. "You said… you said you cared about me… and that… that you wanted to be free and happy with me…"

"Oh… did I?"

That was it. That slim disbelief in Pitch's tone, as if he couldn't logically explain what he'd said.

"You did."

Jack was getting closer to Pitch, not entirely sure what was going to happen when he made it to him.

"…Don't keep me in suspense, then, Frosty…" The taller whispered.

Jack honestly chuckled as he was now closer to Pitch than need be.

He had an idea of what was next.

"I won't."

Jack raised his hand and gently felt Pitch's jaw. There was a modest stubble he hadn't noticed before, and it prickled against his fingertips. He noticed his friend move in the tiniest bit towards Jack's touch. The teen brushed more of his fingers up to the base of Pitch's ear. It was smooth, and he kept trailing down towards the taller's collarbone. His friend trembled and Jack felt the beginnings of goose bumps as he headed back up to Pitch's long neck.

His hand went towards his friend's scalp, and he felt the soft locks spread between his fingers; parting just for him. Pitch was cold, or at least he seemed it compared to how intense Jack's skin prickled. His eyes were half-lidded while he lifted his other hand to grip Pitch's shoulder.

Pitch was still staring down through the cramped distance between them.

Jack was annoyed. "What's so interesting, Pitch?"

His friend slowly raised his gaze to rest on Jack's. He looked flustered, shy, and had the tiniest smileon his face that Jack had ever seen. _It just fits him so perfectly… I've got to see this more often. Tall, dark, and handsome actually being _shy_? This is going to be teased about later._

Jack wasn't annoyed anymore.

"Well, uh… I was thinking maybe you could just have those socks."

Oh this was going to be good.

"That's too bad." Jack faked, looking away from Pitch.

"W-what?" The older actually appeared _distressed_.

Oh this was going to begreat.

"I didn't plan on wearing them for much longer." Jack shrugged nonchalantly.

"And why would that be?" Pitch sounded irritated.

_Irritated._

Oh this was going to be _fantastic._

Jack snapped his gaze back to Pitch's, beaming as big as his ego. "I was hoping you would knock them off for me."

Pitch looked practically disgusted at Jack's amazing pun. "Oh come on, that's got to be the wor-."

The teen cut him off before he could carry on with a kiss.

Jack felt something pull at him from his abdomen up to his heart. It wasn't a want for Pitch, it was a need. He didn't need him just physically, he needed him emotionally. This man knew how he felt, knew what he had to have, he understood Jack; the first person to understand Jack in his life.

If it wasn't such a blissful moment for Jack, he'd be bawling on the floor.

But he could cry tears of joy at a later time.

He believed what Pitch had said; he understood what to do now.

He knew he didn't want to be like his parents, and for once, he didn't feel _bad_ about it. He didn't feel guilty, or ashamed at the thought of his family being twisted.

He wondered when this had happened; when he had finally not cared anymore.

Though he wouldn't be able to have the police involved with what went on behind closed doors for fear of Megan being taken away from him, he still felt a weight lifted off of his shoulders. If only he could tell people, tell everyone of these sick bastards he lived with, but it was only a few months away, if that, to his eighteenth birthday and then he would be able to run as far away from this place as possible, coming back for Megan, hell, maybe having Megan live with him if he could get her out of there, and by God he was gonna try his hardest to do that.

A tiny part of him had always thought that maybe he had deserved the abuse, that this was all his fault, and he got what was coming to him, but not anymore. It was his _parents _that were the infected ones. He didn't do a damn thing wrong, and if it weren't for that same little sister that prevented him from saying anything in the first place, he would be long gone by the time morning had come.

The blame wasn't laid on him, and that's the one thing he actually did care about at the moment.

Not the fact that the next time he headed home another round of abuse was likely to happen, not the fact that his mother would forever neglect her oldest child who needed the most help until it was convenient for her, and not the fact that he still had to endure all of it for a bit longer.

It was the fact that he was finally free.

But as soon as that train of thought ended, another began.

_What about Pitch?_

There was a tug in his chest as he remembered the cool lips molding with his own.

He wanted to stay for Pitch, wanted to be free with Pitch, not just Megan.

He had let someone else into his life, and there was no going back this time.

Jack didn't think he wanted to anyway.

* * *

One Harry Potter movie, several icepacks, and a discussion later Jack realized that Pitch, for all of his being an English gentleman, was in fact a fan boy.

_Oh this was too good._

He could tell that his friend could barely resist the urge to put in the second movie, and all Jack wanted to do was laugh his ass off as late afternoon rolled around.

The dog, Sandy, Jack recalled his name, started barking causing Pitch to investigate.

Quickly and quietly Jack stood to follow, but his eye was caught by the walls of the bedroom he saw at the end of the hall. As he went in the door closed a tad behind him.

He strolled up to one of the walls in the bedroom with paintings all over it. They were beautiful, not that Jack had much experience with art.

The one in the middle was especially aweing.

A few minutes later, footsteps sounded behind him and his friend was there in the room.

Jack questioned Pitch about the middle painting, curious as ever.

The reaction he received wasn't what he'd been expecting.

The artist's face twisted, pinched, contorted. He visibly flinched and took a step back when Jack asked about the name Seraphina, a name he'd heard Pitch whisper when he dozed off on the couch for a few moments.

Pitch's gaze hazed over and he looked straight through the teen. He didn't seem to be in the same time as the younger. He looked tormented and trapped, like a little kid who'd lied about taking a cookie and had been caught.

He almost looked like Megan from that morning.

In his friend's face, the life was draining faster and faster, and once Jack reached the final word of his question, it was completely gone.

Something snapped under that grey surface.

Something important.

Pitch raced off into another bathroom Jack hadn't noticed before.

The younger, more confused, person went up to the door only to hear sounds of dry heaving from the other side. It felt like forever before they stopped, and Jack wanted to cover his ears.

He knocked awkwardly, unsure if his friend needed another minute or not.

His thought was answered for him.

Pitch swung open the door and quickly paced over to his bed, collapsing on it.

Jack saw him curl into the fetal position, hands on his head, gripping so tight that the tips of his fingers were white. Hushed, heavy tears slipped out from crinkled eyelids as he began to shake.

If it hurt this much to look at the wrecked man in front of him, Jack could only assume what Pitch was actually feeling; what it was that could drive someone to the brink like this. He'd been there and back, it wasn't an easy placeto get to.

There was one thing he could think to do.

Pitch was cold against him, tensed, at first. Gradually he began to warm from the inside, and relaxed after a few sentences were quipped while Jack kissed the back of his neck with a thoughtful grin.

Sandy bounded in beforehand and snuggled up next to Pitch, like he'd done it before, and maybe he had, but that was something to talk about later.

Right now the three of them had the exceptionally soft comforter pulled up and lay breathing deeply.

It was the first time in a long time Jack knew that he had a family.

* * *

Jack didn't know when they'd all drifted off together, but when he woke up it was dinner time, and his stomach prompted him to rise.

Pitch was still asleep, clutching the Corgi to his chest, and Jack didn't have the will to wake them.

He fumbled with closing the door behind him, cursing and hoping he didn't just do what he was trying to avoid in the first place.

The hungry teen padded to his bag by the door, reaching inside to pull out his cellphone. It beeped furiously.

"Shit."

It was Megan asking him what they should do for the night.

Jack opened his contacts and found Jamie's house number. It picked up halfway through the fourth ring.

"Hello?" Mrs. Bennett spoke over the phone. He could hear the smile in her voice already.

"Mrs. Bennett! It's-," Jack started.

"Oh you don't have to tell me, dearie. I'd recognize that voice anywhere! Are you calling about your darling little sister? She and Sophie have just been amazing today, and we all baked some nice chocolate chip cookies on my lunch break. They're to die for! I could save you some if you'd like. You know what, I'm definitely sending Megan home with a couple to make sure you get some meat on those skinny bones of yours! Just because it's Halloween next week doesn't mean you just get to be a skeleton now!" As much as Jack loved Jamie's mom, she had the tendency to ramble. Now he saw where Jamie actually got it from.

"Mrs. Bennett, that sounds just wonderful, but there's been an issue." _A big issue._

"Did the dog come back?!" She sounded shocked.

"You could say that." Jack tried not to snicker at his own morbid humor. "Either way, I was really hoping Megan could stay with you tonight? She told me earlier how much fun she was having today, and instead of having her come stay with me at my friend's, I think she'd have more fun with you and the rest of the Bennetts." Lies were coming easier than ever, it seemed.

"Oh that's fine! As you know they had school off today for that teacher's meeting and whatnot, so I'll just have her borrow some of Soph's clothes for tomorrow morning."

Shit, he'd forgotten about her school.

"Are you sure that's really okay? I mean, I can come get her if it's not. It's no trouble, honest." Jack held his breath. While he really wanted to see his sister, Pitch was emotionally wrecked, and while most likely he wouldn't oppose to Megan coming over if Jack explained the situation, the younger didn't want to push that onto him so soon.

"It's okay, dearie! Are you sure you don't need a place to stay? There's plenty of room upstairs with Jamie-."

"I'm fine, I wouldn't want to intrude on you more! I'll text Megan and let her know where I'm staying. Thank you so much for this." All he wanted to do now was get out of the conversation before Jamie overheard.

"You kids with all this texting. I don't understand how your thumbs don't fall off." Mrs. Bennett laughed loudly at her own joke. It definitely wasn't that funny, but hearing that motherly voice made him laugh right along.

"Thanks again, Mrs. Bennett."

"Please, call me Jamie's mom." She laughed harder and so did Jack.

"Okay, okay, I'll make sure to do that. See you tomorrow."

"Bye-bye, Jack." There was tenderness to her tone as she stopped her fit. Jack felt embarrassment creep into his cheeks.

"B-bye." He flustered and hung up as he heard another laugh.

She'd sounded like she'd cared. Maybe she'd always sounded that way and Jack had never noticed.

Or maybe…

A loud knock jumped Jack out of his trailing thoughts.

"Fu-…" He slapped a hand over his mouth and peered down the hall to the closed bedroom door. He didn't hear any waking noises from behind it.

Jack crossed the short distance to the front door and looked through the peephole. He was puzzled. There was no way Pitch had any friends, but there was definitely no friends he had like _that_.

He reached for the knob and pulled in the door.

"Hello?" Jack flashed a confused, squinty grin.

The person gasped. "They sparkle like freshly fallen snow!"

"I-I'm sorry?"

The weirdo took a step forward. "Mind if I have a look?"

"At wha-?" Before Jack could finish his sentence, delicate fingers pried open his jaw.

"Your teeth, silly! They're gorgeous!"

"Whouhldm youw miende-," Jack stammered through small hands.

"I'm sorry, what was that kiddo?" They pulled back.

"Would you mind not putting your fingers in my mouth? Thank you." He stared, irritated, shifting his weight to one foot and putting his hands in his pockets.

"You're right, you're right. Introductions come first."

_Oh yeah, that's fine, once you tell me who you are and why you're here feel free to examine my teeth. That's how meeting people works. Good to know. Thank you._

Jack just glared.

They held out their hand. "My name's Toothiana, and yours?"

This lady, whatever business she had with Pitch, well… It seemed a little odd someone that looked like her would be around someone like Pitch, of all people.

She had short, thrown back hair that spiked up and back in a small wave. The color was one of those 'mermaid' styles Jack had seen some of the girls at his school wear. It was tri-colored, starting with sea foam green at the roots, going out to a sky blue, and into a light pink and a dark purple. She wore a headband with gold sparkles and faux diamonds. Her earrings looked like tiny, metal peacock feathers, and besides those in her earlobes she had small golden hoops and diamond studs.

Her outfit was the most shocking. A short, fake-ly tattered maid uniform without sleeves that was a shadowy green with white, fishnet tights underneath. The trim along the dress was white as well, and her boots went up past her knees. Their shade matched the dress' main color, the laces were white like the tights, and around the laces there was an edging of gold and diamonds, looking much like the headband. She even had a golden bangle on one upper arm that coiled around it, and a simple green, leather bracelet on the other wrist. Her necklace had a gold chain with another big, faux diamond on it. The ornament was shaped like a tooth. Her white and blue eyeliner flared out around her eyes and it made them look bigger, while she was wearing some pink mascara. Her cheeks looked glittery, and it seemed to Jack that there must've been some in whatever small amount of blush she'd used. He also thought that she was only wearing chap stick from the lack of color but abundance in shine.

She was pretty, that was for sure, and while the outfit may have been a little eccentric, she definitely pulled it off with her small, shapely body and wider-than-most hips.

Jack couldn't remember when it was that he started helping Megan out with shopping for clothes. He could only recall times when he'd be up late online looking through different styles and trending outfits to make sure she wouldn't be the odd one out at school. Now whenever he saw someone uniquely dressed, he catalogued it in the back of his mind without another thought because it might help her make friends.

It was a small habit, but an important one, especially since it had to do with his sister.

He took Tothiana's hand after hesitating. "Jack."

"Well Jack, it's nice to meet you."

"You too," he mumbled.

"Are you a friend of Mr. Pitchiner's?"

"You could say that." Jack glanced away as heat flooded his cheeks. Now why was that happening?

"Oh I see." He looked back to see a knowing smirk and a glint in her eye.

"Hey! It's not like that!" Why did he care what this stranger thought?

"You don't have to worry, honey. Your secret's safe with me." With that the woman carried in a basket Jack hadn't seen her holding and trudged over to the kitchen.

"Excuse you." Jack was a little pissed now.

"Oopsies," she giggled. "I probably should've told you why I'm here."

"Probably." Jack gritted his teeth.

"I'm Mr. Pitchiner's maid."

_Wait… What?_

"Maid?"

"The outfit wasn't enough?" _No._ "I don't come very often, honestly, and there's not much cleaning to be done around here. Sometimes I think he just hired me for the company, but then whenever I do somehow there's work to be done next time." She huffed, sitting on one of the island's stools and leaning on the counter to look over at Jack.

"Alright, alright. So he's been here, what, not even a month? And he has a maid for no reason, his apartment is amazing. I'm starting to get the feeling that maybe there's a few things he's not telling me." Jack accidentally spoke aloud.

Toothiana made a motion to zip her lips and throw away the key. It didn't make much sense when she opened it a second later. "Sorry, dearie, I can't tell you much. He doesn't say anything to me either."

Silence stretched for a few minutes before Jack remembered how his friend was at that moment.

"Pitch, uh, Mr. Pitchiner is actually dead asleep right now. He had a rough morning."

She pinched her eyebrows together. "I think I understand."

The maid hopped off the stool. "There only seems to be these," she pointed to the dishes. "I'll just wash them real quick and head out. Whatever pays the student loans, ya know?" She shrugged.

"Okay, yeah, that's fine." He fished a hand out of his pocket and awkwardly sifted it through his undoubtedly ruffled hair.

Jack moved over to the island where she'd previously been sitting and brought up a stool for himself.

They didn't speak much until she whispered sadly with her back turned and hands in dirty water.

"You know… Sometimes I come by," she started with a sag of her shoulders, "and his eyes will be bloodshot or the tips of his nose and ears will be red and itchy looking." She paused. "I don't ask anything. It doesn't seem to me like he's the kind of person to spill his guts to any one person, especially if it's something about himself."

Toothiana paused again, rinsing off the rest of the dishes and wiping them before she continued and turned around.

"If he's talking to you, I'm glad. I'm really glad." She bit her lip. "It's weird, ya know? I get hired by this young guy, younger than me, and he seems like such a shut in, doesn't talk much to anyone, and then I see I'm wrong about the guy whenever he thinks I can't see him or I'm not paying attention."

A heavy exhale.

"He gets this sad look in his eye… Have you seen it?"

Jack nods.

"It's not… It's like he's missing something, and I actually have a key to this place, I forgot it today, and I think it was last week I walked in and down the hall to see him slamming a drawer shut. He wouldn't look at me, and just said he was sorry I had to come all the way over here, but there wasn't anything he needed cleaning today. He even said he'd still pay me, but I just thanked him and walked out.

"It was probably a mistake, but… I guess… I don't think he would've said anything to me anyway."

She stared deeply into Jack's eyes this time, searching for something, and he hoped she found it.

"I'm happy there's someone now, is all." She shrugged, playing off her little speech and grabbing her basket. "I guess I'll be going."

Before Jack could say anything she was already at the door readying herself to walk out.

Toothiana glanced back over her shoulder.

"Thanks, kid."

And walked out the door without another word.

Jack's heart tensed as he stood back up to lock the door.

There was something there, in her eyes, when she looked at him that last time.

Something Jack wished he hadn't seen.

It was love.

Love for someone he'd just stolen from her.

* * *

The air from the ridge came out in cool waves as Jack searched for something he could manage to make for them. He might not have been the best at cooking outside of the microwave, but he certainly wasn't the worst.

Jack whipped out his phone to search for a fitting recipe.

Scents of barbeque chicken, broccoli, and rice pilaf flitted around the apartment.

He could do this.

It couldn't be that bad.

Jack stuck a fork into one of the chicken bits and brought it to his lips. He breathed in, taking a bite.

Just because he was smug didn't mean that the food wasn't actually delicious.

Plates were prepared after a good five minutes of searching for the damn things, and the table was set. Now all he had to do was wake up Pitch.

Jack strolled down the hall, softly opening the bedroom door and peering inside.

Pitch was practically crushing Sandy, half on top of him, and one of his legs dangled off the bed, still clothed.

The teen resisted the urge to snicker as he headed over. He reached out a hand to shake Pitch awake, but stopped midway, looking to the nightstand.

Toothiana said it was a drawer…

Jack fully withdrew his hand and bent down in front of the stand, cautiously looking to his friend's sleeping face to double check he was still dreaming.

He reached for the bottom drawer, feeling the oddly warm iron handle against his palm, and pulled it open.

There wasn't much. A pack of cigars unopened that looked dusty and old, a few charcoal pencils, and a miniature sketchbook.

Jack tried the middle one.

Papers were strewn about this drawer, but underneath them sat a box covered in delicate butterflies. Butterflies that looked much like the one in Pitch's painting. Jack exhaled and lifted the box out onto his lap. He looked again to his right, jumping at Sandy's eyes watching him intently. At least it wasn't Pitch that had woken up.

He pried open the lid and gasped, putting a hand over his mouth.

Another glance over at his friend assured him he was still sleeping.

Jack continued in his search with the drop of his hand.

Newspaper articles were all he could see so far. Articles from some English paper, many English papers, actually, and from what he could tell it was of the same interlocking events. Jack laid them aside on the hardwood floor and dug deeper. Next he found a small children's book with heavily worn edges. He figured it must've been used a lot in its day. Quickly Jack flipped through it. It was about butterflies, and he set it on top of the newspaper clippings.

Now that the box was almost empty, he could see an even smaller jewelry box in the bottom.

He lifted the box out like he'd done with the other and held it in the palm of his hand. Carefully, he pushed the lid back.

Part of him berated him for snooping through his friend's things. Someone he'd not known for more than a week, after all, why would Pitch tell him anything about this? It wasn't Jack's business.

But with the breakdown he'd witnessed earlier fresh in his mind, Jack couldn't stop himself from carrying on.

The covering snapped back on its hinges.

Inside this one there was a simple yet ornate, golden locket.

Jack felt across the top of it, curious why something this small was so important.

He noticed the clasp on the edge and pressed it open with a clink.

Needless to say, Jack was more confused than ever.

He didn't want to rush Pitch with anything about his past, but this…

A young girl's face gazed out at him with a grin befitting a princess.

She was beautiful, young, couldn't have been older than maybe eight or nine. She had matching facial features to Pitch and there was no doubt they were somehow related.

_Oh duh._

Jack reached over for one of the newspapers' clippings, grabbing the first one his fingers made purchase with.

_**Owner and Founder of Pitchiner Healthcare Found Dead With Wife And Child**_

He couldn't bring himself to read it. He snagged another one.

_**Break-in At Local Business Owner's House: Three Dead**_

And another.

_**Lone Survivor of the 'Pitchiner Purloin' Case Claims 'They've Got the Wrong Bad Guys'**_

He kept going.

_**Alone In This World: The Aftermath of the Pitchiner Murders**_

_**Fundraiser for the 'Pitchiner Prodigy' This Saturday**_

_**Convicts of the 'Pitchiner Purloin' Plead Innocent**_

_**Funeral Procession Held for the Wrongly Passed Family**_

_**Special Memorial for Seraphina Pitchiner**_

_**Heir of the Pitchiner Healthcare Facilities Auctioned Off The Company As Soon as He took control: Claims 'It's Better In Different Hands'**_

Jack's eyes pricked with tears as one headline forced him to read the paragraph underneath.

_**Years Later: Case Unsolved, Original Suspects Innocent, Heir Gone to America**_

_On the anniversary of the '_Pitchiner Purloin,_' we mourn the loss of the established members of our community that were wrongly taken from us. Asleep in their beds at the time, Mr. and Mrs. Pitchiner passed on due to murderers, thieves, and downright disgusting men, as we all know. The daughter, Seraphina Pitchiner, stabbed and killed in her little nightgown, unaware of what had happened to her parents hours before. She was only six years old. While suspects were captured, the son, Kozmotis Pitchiner, eleven at the time, claimed they weren't the ones who had committed the crime in front of his own eyes. Proved innocent after months of trial, the original suspects were let go, and to this day the real culprits are still at large. Kozmotis, now nineteen on our records, sold the family's company 'Pitchiner Healthcare' and its affiliates on his eighteenth birthday once it had been signed over to him. Then he said, 'It's better in different hands. The deaths of my family were wrong, and there's nothing I, nor any of us, can do to make that better. […] To take a step into my future I have to let go of the past, and for that to happen I can't drag this organization down with my failure." Once all the paperwork was done and his ties were cut, the _Pitchiner Prodigy_ flew to America to start a career of his own. While he hasn't been in the news since for anything major, our city hopes with every heart he's doing better than when we last saw him._

Jack realized who Seraphina was and more tears fell. She was Pitch's little sister.

She was killed in front of him.

A warm hand gripped his wrist from the right and Jack saw Pitch glaring down at him through his own blurry eyes.

Jack couldn't tell if the orphan was angry, upset, or saddened.

Sandy wriggled out from under Pitch, jumped down from the bed, and bolted from the room, sensing the tension.

Pitch spoke, carefully pronouncing each word.

"Don't hurt her."

Jack's face warped in bewilderment. "What…?"

"Give it to me." Pitch looked towards the locket.

The younger reached towards his friend with the locket in hand as Pitch finally released his wrist and gripped the necklace instead.

He was silent, staring intently at the picture of Seraphina, for several moments.

His gaze went to Jack's.

The teen wasn't sure what to do. He couldn't process all of this at once; everything he'd just learned piled over and spread through his mind.

"I made dinner." Jack stated, pulling everything back into the box and standing up.

"Oh…" Pitch's eyes never left him, but he didn't seem all there as he moved into a seated position.

"I'm going to take Sandy for a walk then." Jack gripped Pitch's forearm and stood him up. He left the room with his friend following close behind.

"Are you… Did you eat?" The older still didn't seem to be thinking clearly.

"Yeah, while you were sleeping." Jack slipped the leash that was hanging by the door onto the Corgi's collar.

"Oh, but…" Pitch was glancing into the kitchen.

Jack opened the door, leading Sandy out of it. "We'll be back soon." He closed it behind him and leaned against it softly with a deep exhale.

From inside he faintly heard Pitch's low voice, almost a whisper. "Then why is the table set for two…"

It was quiet until loud thumps started sounding, like he'd thrown over the chairs as he stomped around. He cried out, heavy and cracking, breaking apart from the inside out. Jack could hear the dripping, collapsed tears in his voice.

"Is this what you wanted!? IS THIS IT!? JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT!" Pitch choked a sob. "Just tell me…" Another thump. "Please tell me…"

Jack ran away, leash in hand, holding back the falling saltwater as best he could.

He couldn't listen to any more.

* * *

**"...tell if the orphan..."****  
****"...orphan..."****  
****ORPHAN.****  
****I'm sorry. And it's been so dramatic lately! Ugh. But we gotta wade through this stuff. I'm actually kinda excited for Jack's next chapter. OH THAT REMINDS ME! Did you guys like my interpretation of Tooth? I picture her like 23 or 26. Was it too eccentric or what? I'd like to know from you! Not just anyone, you. The person reading this right now.****  
****Again, editing was bad on this one, but I was trying to get back to the descriptive writing and upping the amount of body language in this one. If it's too much, shout it out to me n w n****  
****See you at the top of the next (old character? introducing) chapter~**


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